THE VENUE for this year’s AGM was the Hythe Imperial Hotel and it almost lived up to its name. There was a swimming pool, sauna, gym (not that you would ever catch me in one of those). The rooms were OK, but nothing special, and the service I thought was excellent.

I arrived about two and before too long was propping up the bar with two faces I had not met before, Martin, the security man from the Brighton centre that we had ‘bagged’ at the World Beard and Moustache Championships and Stuart. As the beers went down and the afternoon wore on, the table grew bigger as more and more of the usual suspects joined us and at five or so we were summoned to the official proceedings of the meeting.

The actual AGM was fairly uneventful. Obviously with Conway’s passing we needed a president and Rodders was elected unopposed. The vice presidentship that he had vacated was taken up by ex treasurer Tony Skyrme. Alex McBride took over the treasurership and though I did try to wheedle my way out of my position as ‘committee member with no obvious function’ there were no other changes made. A new category of friend was created for those without moustaches that had done good works for the club over a long period and Rosemary Chiles was inaugurated as the first distinguished friend. The meeting was over in not much over half an hour and then the serious drinking began.

PICTURE: DAN SEDEROWSKY

Dinner was a bit on the nouvelle cuisine side for my liking but on the other hand I did learn how to make an impromptu bra and an oven ready chicken out of napkins over dinner. I had no idea what an educational establishment the Handlebar Club was. Repairing once more to the bar I built on a good foundation of beer and red wine with a considerable number of (overpriced) gin and tonics and the next thing I knew it was one o'clock in the morning, I think I was discussing European politics with Ronnie and could not feel my teeth.

The activities for the next day were centred largely around the tiny Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch steam railway. We had been bought tickets so that we could pop on and off the train at any time. Dan and I started walking to the station which looked like a ten minute walk on the map. Half an hour later, having got about half way there we were gathered up by Rodders and bundled into the back of Dame Judy’s car and transported the last half of the journey. I still have no idea how it was that everyone that should have been at the station was there at the right time, it must have been like herding cats. Ignoring the expense (an extra fifty pence) I settled into one of the two first class carriages where they had a bar and, starting as I intended to go on, got stuck into a bottle of ‘Romney brown and odd’, or somesuch, which was actually a very good beer. We all of us (I think there were about 45 in total) went all the way to Dungeness which is a very odd place indeed with houses just sort of plopped about on the sand with no apparent rhyme or reason to them.

A quick jog (ha!) to the top of the lighthouse and back, and I joined up with many of the others that had headed straight for the Britannia Inn for a morning snifter. After that people were left pretty much to do as they liked having been told to be back at the hotel by seven. I caught the train to the main station of New Romney with Guy Heathcoate (who was later seen balancing an odd object on his nose in the bar) and Paul Lewis and his girlfriend Sarah and we had a look at the model railway, and then Guy and I headed into the ‘main town’ (all six shops worth) because I needed a cash machine. A couple more drinks in the bar back at the hotel and then it was time for the evening meal.

A Portuguese film crew had made a film about the World Beard and Moustache Championships and we watched that over dinner and then (for those with an iron constitution) there was a three minute film clip involving our illustrious webmaster Dave Dade in his underwear.

There was a raffle and a sort of sweepstake for the Grand National though we did not watch the race and pulled our own winner out of the hat. Much to Kerry’s displeasure, yours truly romped home with a hundred to one outsider. The main fundraising event featured Alan Rockliffe, who has long been associated with the Handlebar Club in the capacity of friend, but was ineligible for membership due to a musketeer type beard, holding a ‘save or shave’ event. The assemblage were invited to bid to either save the unnecessary growth or shave it off. The result (though closer than I would have imagined) was a forgone conclusion as this picture shows. I am quite proud of this picture, I believe it captures the agony in Alan’s face (and make no mistake it was a genuine sacrifice) but mostly it captures the despicable glee of our honorary secretary Steve Parsons, who has told us that after he'd finally collected all the pledges, Alan's "agony" raised £355.02 for The Multiple Sclerosis Society, a charity close to his heart. After that it was on the sauce till the wee small hours, I was mainly chatting to Otto and Kobe where the conversation ranged from diverse subjects as nude oil painting to touring Amsterdam stoned on a Segway.

The next morning I was unexpectedly up at eight in the morning and down for breakfast at half eight. There was no one whatsoever in the restaurant. Not wanting to take breakfast toute seule I did a few laps of the pool and sweated for ten minutes in the sauna and discovered that it does wonders for a fragile head. The weather was fine but there were reports of snow all across the rest of the country and those with flights to catch needed to allow extra time to get to the airport and cross their fingers that they had not been cancelled. We pottered about a bit chatting and saying goodbyes many of us expecting to meet up in June at Ronnie’s bar in Antwerp for a similar weekend of drunken silliness.