As this August (although it usually happens in June, well July this year but you know what I mean) body is rapidly approaching its 25th year, here you will find the depository for the preservation of fading memories of halcyon days of golf, camaraderie, foul language, misogynistic boorishness and getting pissed on balmy evenings.

It started long before the days of personal computers and the Internet was solely the the preserve of wispy bearded sandal wearers (so that's Buttifant taken care of) so some of the early memories were only recorded on JCW's golf ball (no, not extremely small writing on a Penfold Ace - it was a sort of typewriter - idiot!) and have gone they way of most ephemera (if anyone could find some old copies of long-forgotten minutes tucked away, they would be gratefully received).

Anyway, these are the ones that have survived, the ravages of time - so pour yourself a stiff (very stiff) drink, sit back and enjoy.