Held in the idyllic surroundings of Duncombe Park, the rally nestles in a sheltered, wooded valley, complete with a river running through the site. Nearby - a nice country walk in fact - the pretty village of Helmsley welcomes the annual influx with good humour and tolerance and subsequently boasts extremely happy landlords and shopkeepers. During the day, much of the serious boozing gets done in Helmsley village, the town square becoming a massive beer garden for bikers who don't much care for ride outs to Scarborough or custom shows, but just want to chill out in the sun near to a decent roast dinner.

Unusual for a big rally, the Farmyard has always traditionally allowed the campers to build fires on site, the wood smoke and 'private parties' around post-midnight bonfires becoming an integral part of the Farmyard's unique vibe. Just as traditionally the organisers have never allowed cars or vans anywhere near the main site. Furthermore they will not welcome any motorists at all unless they are disabled bikers who could not have got to the site any other way. "No Cars. No Excuses!" has always been the Farmyard organisers mantra. This of course means that the event has never lost its aura of authenticity, its slightly rougher edge - it's a party for "real" bikers, whoever they are - and the organisers are damned careful to keep it that way.

None of which means there's headless chickens careening around and between the naked legs of drugged up gang-bangers, if anything, the simple rules have made sure that only the people who truly understand the whole crack bother to turn up. The Farmyard, without any doubt at all, is the friendliest, funniest and most good natured of any of Britain's big biker rallies. Everybody there seems to respect everyone else and consequently, no trouble, just grins all round.

Needless to say I was just a bit hyped up when I arrived on the Friday evening. I parked just inside the gate and strode immediately to the main arena and chief beer tent complex for two reasons. Yes, okay, I did desperately require a beer, but I also knew damn well that it would be close to that alcohol dispensing edifice I had most chance of finding my beloved. Mandie had arrived hours earlier with most of my local mates and had brought, and hopefully erected, our tent - sheer luxury on my part.

I wasn't wrong about the most probable location and by the general state of them, I was going to need more than this paltry tin of bitter to even start to catch up ...

Bike safely parked next to the tent, seemingly miles away from the gate, I strolled back towards the main arena with no other plan than to try and see everything. Tent-bearing motorcycles were still streaming in at dusk and the site was already heaving. Thousands were camped around me, with thousands more on their way.

This year the organisers had arranged for more than one beer tent. There was one in the campsite itself for lazy sods, another hard standing bar - like a bungalow, open at the front with a bar at the back wall - situated just at the entrance to the campsite proper. Near to that, the huge Blues tent was situated, complete with bar, rock disco and its own bands on stage. And here too was the MAG marquee, in front of which the custom show was starting to take shape. Then past a multitude of trade stands and food vendors, near to the main stage, was another huge tent, again with its own bar, bands and disco, the BSH tent, which specialised in Punk and Nu-Rock music.

Past the main stage, out through the gates and across the stone track was a hot and bouncing trance tent, beyond that again, disabled camping and clay pigeon shooting. I had to assume that somebody had figured most of the disabled must have been hard of hearing as well to site them between banging drum and bass at night and constant gunfire during the daylight hours.

Eager to experience everything, we soon lost touch with our original companions, but it didn't really matter. The site was full of friends we knew from near and far - no sooner had you hugged one group of old mates, another bunch from somewhere else kicked you up the backside. It was literally impossible to party with everyone you wanted to, but it was great to know that they were there grooving like mad somewhere on site, like in a different room at some gigantic crazy house party.

I could make lists and gush on for hours about this event, but if you've been, then you won't really be interested and neither can I imagine that people who haven't been would be all that interested to know the minutiae either.

For those who have never been, I can imagine it's possible to be intimidated by the sheer exuberance of the Farmyard, after all, it is ten thousand bikers partying like absolute maniacs for two days solid. All I can say is as long as you remember to leave your attitude at home you are guaranteed a rally to end them all, you won't stop grinning for days and your boss will never understand why.