Apparently, this is what the Brits did for a century or two. Go to a distant land, part of their empire (upon which the sun never set), looking for a better life or better weather or better opportunity or all of the above …

And once a couple of hundred of them had assembled, in that distant land — Hong Kong or Kenya or South Africa or India or Abu Dhabi — they would open a social club for eating and drinking and hanging out and just doing English/British things (snooker probably was involved) with other English/British people.

Such was the case here in Abu Dhabi. In 1962 (a decade before Abu Dhabi would become part of a country known as the United Arab Emirates), they formed a club.

For half a century, the place has been popularly known in this city as The British Club, even though it apparently has always been just The Club. Which makes it seem a bit more exclusive, actually, doesn’t it? Which the class-conscious (still) Britons probably don’t mind at all.

So, three-plus years in Abu Dhabi, I had never been to The Club. Until tonight.

The occasion was a sports department “holiday” party. (The social event of the season; well, actually, the only social event.)

The National paid for the buffet, and the sports folk were on their own when it came to drink, and that was an arrangement everyone was happy to make.

(We were allowed onto the grounds of The Club because one of the people in the department is a club member. We passed a checkpoint, coming in, and had our names crossed off a list as we entered.)

In Abu Dhabi, in a devoutly Muslim country, the idea behind The Club, 50 years ago, was to give the foreigners a place where they could go behind walls and drink alcohol and perhaps eat pork — both forbidden by Islam. Thus, Sheikh Zayed gave the expat Brits some waterfront acreage near the port on the edge of the city.

As the years went on, The Club took on all sorts of social functions. Click through the website (linked above) and see. A bunch of restaurants, bars, play areas, a beach, a gym, a beauty parlor …

Apparently, it costs a fair chunk of money to join. But at least you have a good chance of getting in: In this story, which appeared in The National, a woman recalls a time 20-30 years ago when the waiting list to get in was 3,000 deep and interviews were necessary to see if you could make the grade. Not everyone did. And men were required to wear a tie in eating areas.

It was a very big deal, back then. Not so much now; I had rarely heard anyone talk about it, and it’s not just because I’m a Yank. Abu Dhabi has a population of 1 million now, and lots of places to go, and one club on the tip of the island is not as crucial as it once was. But the place still seems to be doing well, with 270 staff and some recent awards.

So, the event. We closed the section two hours early, because we had no late news, and because dinner was served at 9.

We had two big tables out near the waterfront, and what 50 years ago must have been a moonlit scene now looks over at Reem Island, where major development, including several enormous towers, is going on.

The buffet was nice (pork sausage, anyone?), with several vegetarian options, lots of salads and lots of meat choices. Lamb kebabs and some chicken drumsticks worked for me.

We had our own wait staff of three guys, one of whom tended bar at the end of a grassy pavilion where we chatted and drank before and after dinner. The drinks were wonderfully inexpensive, for this town. A glass of wine: 14 dirhams, or about $3. Dirt cheap in AD.

Everyone seemed to have a good time. It is a collection of good eggs, really.

The anecdote that dominated the night was a recent incident in which one of our production staffers picked up a cockroach (??) and threw it (!!) past the face of another staffer. Lots of questions on that. (“What possessed you to pick up a cockroach? … And why did you throw it at someone else? … And why was it that the person who was the target of the cockroach ended up apologizing to the cockroach tosser?”)

Apparently, our guy just thought it would be interesting to see what happened. One of those rare slow nights.

It was good, too, to get most of the writers in one place at one time. Some of those guys are a rumor to the office staff (and to each other), living as they do in Dubai. It’s good for everyone to see everyone else, and talk soccer or newspapering and share stories. It was a team-building exercise that didn’t involve any sweating.

So, The Club. A bigger deal than I thought. And I can see how it used to be a very big deal, indeed.