Barnet Copthall's Joe Twyman works near The Guardian offices and claims to have once visited The Daily Telegraph newsroom, making him far and away the most qualified of the Beavers to tell everyone about the World Masters Championships. Thanks to John Rittenhouse, Mark Reynolds, Ian Woollard and Fifi Le Marché for the photos.

California: Home to over 37 million people, the eighth largest economy in the world, the $50 billion Hollywood film industry, the $10 billion San Fernando Valley hardcore pornography industry and the XI FINA World Masters Championships 2006.

I felt I knew all there was to know about California. After all, I had seen a number of films and TV shows set there, including a handful of episodes of hard-hitting, gritty documentary The OC on Channel 4.

The pool: Widely regarded as an integral part of any swimming competition's facilities

Sadly it turns out that most of what I had learnt was wrong. Although I remain convinced that I was always just one wrong turn away from a dungaree-wearing banjo player eager to hear me squeal. Also, I knew that if my flight to California had crashed I would have been okay as long as I had befriended the unusually young and handsome male doctor and the bald guy in the wheelchair who could now miraculously walk.

Over 7,200 chlorine addicts would be joining me in heading for The Leland Stanford Junior University, or simply ‘Stanford’ for short, in Palo Alto, California. We would take part in swimming, water polo, diving and synchro events - all held at the world famous (albeit misspelt) Avery Aquatics Center (sic). Even before a single race had been swum, news that over 170 former Olympians had entered indicated that the standard would certainly be high.

Muir-Cochrane and Pipes-Neilsen in the battle of the double-barrels

I was staying in Santa Clara on the ‘historic’ El Camino Real. ‘Historic’ in the Californian sense means ‘predates colour television’ and the area is now more famous as the heart of Silicon Valley. In swimming terms it is also well known for The Santa Clara Swimming Club and its long and distinguished list of former members including some guy called Mark Spitz. More recently P.H. Mullen’s excellent Gold in the Water documented events at the club in the run-up to the 2000 Olympics.

Prior to arrival my accommodation, at the questionably named 'Vagabond Inn', had sounded worryingly like the kind of place you would only stay if the Bates Motel were full. However, it turned out to be perfectly adequate whilst also, crucially, being perfectly cheap. As luck would have it, throughout my stay the hotel also played host to a conference for the Obese, Pickup Driving Rednecks of America Association (Loud Alcoholic Chapter). This was a real delight and gave me a true taste of the local culture.

The Isle of Man team were easy to spot because of their lack of tails

Before the fun and games of the competition could begin, there was the serious matter of the British Swimming drinks reception to attend. Many of the 180 plus British swimmers were present at the event, held in the clubhouse grounds of the Stanford University Golf Course. No – my university didn’t have a golf course either.

Many of the great and the good and the bad and the ugly from the world of British Masters were in attendance at the reception. British Swimming’s Andy Wilson, Verity Dobbie and Geoff Stokes rubbed well-developed shoulders with, amongst others, Nuala Muir-Cochrane, Judy Wilson and Monsieur Duncan De La McCreadie, on this occasion representing the French Foreign Legion. First Lady of Masters, Jane Asher, was also present ahead of her five events where it was hoped that world records might fall.

Those crazy Scots and their crazy skirts

The largest single contingent came from a combined services team from the British Armed Forces. The team, affectionately known as The Squaddy Squad, was comprised of 25 swimmers and two divers.

Elsewhere the women from Northampton may have had less people in their team, but what they lost in numbers they more than made up for in patriotism, sporting matching Union Flag tops. The kilt wearing Scottish contingent also did their best for national pride.

Amongst my own Barnet Copthall team we had a small but occasionally determined group lead by our long-suffering coach Ian ‘Wellard’ Woollard and including multiple British record holding club chairman Mark Reynolds and recently unretired multiple Olympic attendee Mike Fibbens.

Jane Asher and Monsieur De La McCreadie

Copthall had also unofficially borrowed Tara Hutt from Havant and Waterlooville on a short-term lease. She had been graciously granted the unrivalled privilege of having me as her travelling companion and training partner for the duration of the competition.

Sadly missing from the reception were Fiona Marshall and her multinational taskforce from Otter, incorporating Derek Parr and his one man Rapid Reaction Force. They would go on to successfully fulfil the important annual task of gatecrashing the German Team party instead.

Once the (mainly non-alcoholic) drinks were flowing ‘Totally’ Stokes gave a short speech. He wished everyone the best of luck in the competition and said that the only thing we had to fear was a major terrorist incident messing up everyone’s plans to return home. However, I may have dreamt that last bit - I was very jet lagged.

The girls from Northampton continue to fly the flags

There was some debate about whether or not the Copthall team should attend the opening ceremony for the competition, to be held straight after the drinks reception. In the end we decided that if bodybuilder-turned-actor-turned-politician Governor Ahhnuld couldn’t be bothered, then neither could we. I was quite happy with the group coming to this decision as the previous opening ceremony I had attended, at the Europeans in Millau, had been a traumatic experience. The sight of a group of school children dressed in Don’t Look Now style hooded-capes whilst strangely chanting had been enough to ensure I came worrying close to comprehensively shitting myself!

Instead we opted for a meal at a local seafood restaurant followed by an early night. The next morning the swimming would begin with the men’s and women’s 800m freestyle. . . . . . . . .

Reynolds in action

Hutt in action

And after all that action they need a quiet sit down

. . . . . . . . . And seven days later it was all over.

The Copthall contingent think they have spotted the person who stole Simon's clothes

The breaking of over 150 world records was evidence that the standard had indeed been very high. In fact across the events there were simply too many amazing performances by both Brits and those from the rest of the world to even begin to mention all of them. Personally, 55 year-old American Laura Val’s swim in the 100m freestyle particularly sticks in the mind after her time of 1:02.62 took four seconds off the previous world record.

The Copthall-style hi-tech solution to results

For Britain, Jane Asher naturally deserves a mention for winning gold in all five of her events, setting four new world records in the process. Of her many swims, described as a ‘swimming masterclass’ by the event commentator, the 800m stands out after she bettered the old world record by just under 1 minute ten seconds. I was also very impressed by the Derek Parr Rapid Reaction Force memorably taking gold in the 200m butterfly in a new European record time after flying in straight from Budapest just for that race. Fiona Marshall happily announced that he ‘did club and country proud’.

Gary Thomas from the British Armed Forces said their team had performed ‘better than expected’. Their top swims included three bronze medals and a silver in the relays and a new British record in the 160-199 years 4 x 50m freestyle relay, but sadly that was only good enough for 18th place. The Otter Multinational Taskforce had the better of them in the 100-119 years Mixed Medley Relay however, with British teams finishing second and third to hosts Stanford.

The Otter Multinational Taskforce including the Derek Parr Rapid Reaction Force

So competitive were some of the events that Graham Pearson, Karen Elly, Calum McKinlay and Copthall’s own Mark Reynolds all set new British records and yet still unfortunately finished outside the top three in their events.

Of course the supreme talent of my travelling companion and her four silvers along with my teammate’s equally well deserved gold also need a mention, so well done to Miss Hutt and Mr Fibbens.

Once the swimming concluded the holidaying began and the search for Maximal Sunnage™ started. From our base in Santa Clara, Tara and I were in a perfect location for exploring vast areas of Northern California. Sadly most of this exploration was not deliberate but instead as a result of a complete absence of useful road signs. We latterly established that signs that actually tell you something useful are - like roundabouts, the use of indicators, lane discipline and small cars – simply not present on Californian roads.

An official places his Benn-shaped toy on the blocks

It didn’t help, of course, that my sense of direction is so poor it’s a surprise I ever made it out of the womb and Tara needed to check if we were flying in an easterly or westerly direction when we left London. On the plus side, however, we did get a really good look around the Google campus, many more times than just once. And the Intel headquarters. And the Californian coastal highway. And the southern suburbs of San Francisco.

The fact that Burt Bacharach sang ‘Do you know the way to San Jose?’ now comes as absolutely no surprise. Although having visited it, again largely by mistake, I can only assume he wished to establish where it was in order to avoid it.

Great freestylers of our time: Hall Jr, Fibbens and er . . . Twyman

Despite existing in a constant state of geographical disorientation Tara and I managed, without any difficulty as it turned out, not to kill each other. I even succeeded in getting her to try the joys of sashimi and in return she taught me an awful lot about seminal Dick Van Dyke daytime TV extravaganza Diagnosis Murder.

Next stop Slovenia for the Euros and then all the way to Perth in 2008 for more Maximal Sunnage™.

An edited version of this artcle somehow found its way into the October edition of Swimming Times.