Legend has it that 125 years ago, St Albans HC (consisting of one team of Hertfordshire gentlemen), played against Finchley, who almost certainly didn’t exist at the time, because we won 5-0 which is exactly the score recorded when the oppo doesn’t turn up. Just saying.

Gentlemen were joined in 1989 by Ladies (Abbeyside ones) and Clarence Park witnessed more legendary behaviour in the bar on Saturday nights. Having gone co-ed, we were then allowed to relocate to Oaklands College ten years ago and that's where we find ourselves these days. To celebrate, the college classrooms were transformed to a magical tangerine twinklefest by JG and his band of event managers, and the Copues family tested their lungs by blowing up 3000 tiny balloons to line the pitches.

Friday night at OAs saw the gathering of 70 people with a combined age of 10,365 to eat, drink and listen to speeches with their hearing aids turned up to the max. Hair was mostly grey or facial, and Steph Port was chuffed to be the youngest person there. Mild panic broke out when the road to St Albans was blocked off, some contemplating a lock in, others wondering whether their wheelchair would make it all the way home.

The Birthday Book began its rounds that evening, and no one could doubt the steely determination of Jacqueline and her sidekick Mike to fill it with names and anecdotes. Rumour has it, she went to sleep that night with the book under her pillow, dreaming of chasing tangerine-clad hockey players over green fields, waving her multi-coloured pens at them.

Saturday matches saw the W7s lose to Bishop's Stortford by a margin too frightening to mention here (let’s just say they would have had to have not turned up, twice), and the W5s also lost 1-3 to a different Bishop’s Stortford team. Not a great start to the day. The M4s fared better with a 6-0 drubbing of Blueharts. Now we’re talking.

A tidy crowd gathered for the W1s match but unfortunately they made an ill-advised decision to follow the lead of the W7s and W5s and lose. We’re all for club moral support, Shen, but we can assure you it’s not necessary.

Thank goodness then for the M7s who thrashed Stevenage 4-2, the M1s who walloped Lichfield 1-0, the M9s who sent Luton Town home in tatters winning 5-1, and the M3s in the graveyard shift who smashed Hertford 4-2. Go the boys!

The M3s (and all the teams who played away) cut it fine to get showered and changed into their best new tangerine clothes for the start of the party, and as the M1 and W1s already had the head start at the bar, struggled to keep up, as indeed did anyone. The performance teams’ intensive training this season really paid off, with their speed to and from the bar that evening matching their prowess on the pitch (the U18 players enjoying the completely alcohol-free orange juice based beverage).

The clubroom was packed, and the temperature quickly rose to sauna levels, especially at the table tennis end where the games were fought to the death. As there was no official dancefloor, and the unofficial one was occupied by Disco Briscoe and Mr Copues, any illicit teenage snogging action was carried out in the corridor by the balcony. Naming no names of course.

One thing was for sure, the food was delicious (unless you were a vegetarian) and the 500 cows who were sacrificed to feed us can rest easy in the knowledge that they made everyone happy (except the vegetarians).

Naturally there were many A-list celebs at the party and any attempt to remain incognito was foiled as they made themselves easy to spot by wearing tangerine and navy Hawaiian shirts (not sh*t shirts). The paparazzi were out in force and would not rest until they had photographed them all. The party broke up in the small hours of the morning and everyone went home, except those thirsty young OJ-drinkers who were spotted hammering on the door of the Jolly Sailor as dawn broke over St Albans.

Sunday morning and swarms of excitable U10s started the Perpetual Anniversary game (PAG) bright and early at 9am. A giant walking cone appeared shortly afterwards, confusing and scaring small children and disrupting their game in a rather annoying and immature fashion.

As Sky Sports helicopters buzzed relentlessly and Chinese spy balloons drifted ominously in the skies above the pitches, a Hockey Paper TV Crew and a local radio reporter tried to interview the key SAHC players, including Ellie Watton’s baby and the cone.

Midday approached and lots of people from the 1980s gathered indoors (out of the cold) which is where they always preferred to play anyway. They were given a fancy buffet lunch in the clubhouse, but they kept sneaking over to the kitchen to carbo-load on bacon and sausage sandwiches and the magnificent 125 cake baked by Jess, future winner of GBBO. The many Fenns stepped out of their umpiring neon green and into their tangerine pinnies to make and sell 15,000 sandwiches in an hour, when the U10 hordes rushed up to the clubhouse after their go at the PAG, happy to escape from the giant cone, who still haunts their nightmares and will for many years to come.

After ensuring that the pitch-side defibrillator was in good working order, the 1980s gang were allowed their turn at the PAG to see who could get the ball off Hannah Macleod, and those who could still walk at the end of it were given a ‘guard of honour’ hockey stick tunnel, so they felt safe and not threatened by playing hockey outside. All that fresh air - not good for you. Their fundraising to put a roof on the Astro-turf pitches is coming along nicely, they’ve raised £34 so far. Donate here: www.gofundme.com/itstoocoldforusouthereandwhyarethesestickssoheavy

The PAG rolled on and on, with some players allegedly turning up straight from the Jolly Sailor. At 5pm, after eight hours of hockey, and hallucinations of cones multiplying terrifyingly, the brave, beleaguered players limped into the clubhouse to have one last pint, one last burger, and swop emotional stories from the weekend. If you weren’t absolutely exhausted by that point, you were doing it wrong.

It was a monumental effort of 48 hours of cooking, baking, serving, cleaning, clearing, washing, decorating, blowing up balloons, bursting balloons, umpiring, photographing, filming, signing The Book, eating, drinking, dancing, snogging, cheering and celebrating. Anyone who couldn’t make it should have massive FOMO now, especially that original non-existent Finchley team, to whom we owe a great debt of gratitude and without whom the whole idea of being a ‘successful and friendly hockey club located in the beautiful city of St Albans’ might have fizzled out, 125 years ago.