Dear Mr Whimpey

I hereby, and immediately as of this date, make application to become a member of the Brisbane Racing Club. 
In the usual course (pardon the pun) of events I would almost certainly have filled in some type of standard membership form and signed and sent it to you, but I see on your company’s website that as a demonstration of the benefits of benevolent dictatorship you have  decided- for my own good of course, and because the you (euphemistically, I actually mean the company) deem it the right thing to do – to suspend the admission of new members due to the limitations of access to full membership services and benefits as a result of the Great Incredible Eagle Farm (Gravel, Sand and Grass) Debacle. 
Whilst I greatly appreciate the top brass of the company caring so much about me missing out on benefits like waiting ten minutes at the bar to get a drink so I can swipe my imitation fly-buys card, or standing 6 deep in a single tote queue to put a trifecta on,  or jumping in the tardis and stepping back in time 50 years so I can attend a 2017 race meeting at Eagle Farm and walk ankle deep in urine in a 100 year old dunny, the truth is that I’m a big boy now and I can make these decisions myself, and freely contract with others as I see fit, even if the consideration attached to the deal is somewhat reduced. Whether I can cop it or not is my choice really, not yours. And I want in.
Let’s be honest Dave, someone fix this goddamn mess, and given that I was punting at the Farm and Doomben before I could walk and that love racing even more than I do shagging my missus, I can’t think of any better bloody person to do it than me.
So, in accordance with the extremely limited information publicly available on your website about the membership application process, here are the details you have advertised as required to kick start my application:
Membership category of interest
The highest class. I am after full membership, because I aspire to become one of the company’s directors.
Full Name:
Archibald Jeebung (with a ‘J’) Butterfly
Email Address:
Mobile Number:
Is there a minimum number of mobiles required to qualify for membership?
I have about 17.
Seven butterflies of various descriptions that mates have given me as gifts (do your friends give you Ice Cream Vans to mark special occasions ?), 2 model planes dad built with me when I was a kid (well he built them really because I’m useless on the tools, but they hold fond childhood memories in their fuselage), a wind chime that Shorty’s missus gave the bead twirler to settle a wager on an online scrabble game, a dream catcher my hippy daughter bought me for my 40th birthday, and a blow up Kiwi that a lovely bird we helped kicked to kick an ice addiction gave me to say thanks.
The blow-up Kiwi doll is called Whaka, the ‘wh’ in Maori being pronounced as an ‘F’. It’s a verb that when used as a prefix takes a direct object – like a race track – and ends it in a passive construction, which is sort of apt isn’t it? Here’s an example – Kua whakapaua aku moni e taku tama. It means My son has spent my money. Cool hey? Or not, I guess.
Anyway Whaka the blow up kiwi doll is usually hanging suspended from a hook in the Geebung Polo Club roof with number 8 wire, but due to recent government budget cuts resulting she’s currently dangling from a floor lamp on brown string . I won’t go into the finer details of the affair but given what you’ve been through with the track and the rooted revenue distortions recently I’m sure you’ll understand. Just in case you’ve blocked these recent events out though – and who could blame you if you if you did – I’ve attached a picture just so you can see what I mean.
It’s a good book that one Whaka’s reading too, I highly recommend it to you and the board.

Now Dave – do you mind I call you by your first name rather than refer to you as Whimpey? – I know you’re an efficiency man, so to save your staff research time and avert the need for expensive legal advice on the issue and cut costs, I’ve had a good squizz at the Brisbane Racing Club Limited Constitution over the weekend (I had plenty of time after doing my arse when one Waller trained half-broken down cripple beat another, Devil Hawk being the former of course and the never-winning Loving Home the other) and it’s as clear as gap between Winx and the rest to me that neither you nor the board has the right to unilaterally declare membership of the club suspended.  After all, this isn’t a closed union shop is it, and we’re a race club or company, not the bloody Painters and Dockers here are we?
So if I want to become a member then I reckon you’re bound to take me as one, and as I’ve said above I’m prepared to cop the unavailability of certain membership benefits sweet, just like the current members have to. Speaking of those members, did it ever occur to you that if you feel honor bound or purport to have a duty of care to refuse new members, you probably should be doing something about cancelling the membership of those currently in the tent too? After all, if not being able to provide blokes like me with the full suite of benefits is cause to block me from joining the show, then surely you have to apply the same principle to those who’ve already paid their annual dump, a decision that no doubt many of them made in reliance on the company’s published projection of uninterrupted racing at the Farm and the extra $3 million plus in revenue that it was said to be going to bring in.
Anyway, that’s a matter for you and the board I guess.
As for me, I just want to become a member of the club and get my badge, so to make the process easy and save too much back and forth I declare the following in order to tick the boxes provided by the company constitution:
1. I confess to being a wee bit eccentric, but the Mental Health Act mob haven’t caught up to me yet and as such I am for all intents and purposes of sound mind and not of impaired intellectual capacity, and although some wise guys might try to argue to the contrary don’t believe a word they say because they’re just trying to tug your coat sleeve.
2. I am not an employee of any race club. although between the ages of 15 and 20 I was a casual employee of the Qld Turf Club and did it all: challking (and later marker-penning) the interstate fluctuations, running the car park, working the gate, selling books, manning (it’s probably personing these days) the raceday office, assisting the handicapper Mr Lester Grimmett, even doing a bit of handbag carrying for the stewards. Great days they were, but they’re over. I’m a freelance journalist these days.
3. I’m not on the governing board of anything just now, although the world is obviously a bloke like me’s oyster.
4. I have no licences at all other than a drivers, class C.
5. I’m not dead. Yet.
6. I’ve never been warned off, disqualified, or placed on the forfeit list, probably because no-one will give me credit to default on.
7. I’ve never been binned or done any porridge; in fact I can proudly boast a clean sheet, and I didn’t even have to pay off a copper or court official to get it.
8. I’m not bankrupt, at least not at this moment anyway, although who knows what the future might bring? It’s a punter’s life isn’t it, feast or famine, and rarely anywhere in between.
9. ASIC aren’t on my tail either. They’re only interested in people with cash.
So there it son, my official application.
Read it and weep.
What’s the next step Dave?
I’m ready and raring to go.
Cheers, and have a winning day