This unique five-day rowing event on the Thames has been unfolding in its own inimitable way since 1839.

Given that this was also the date when the term "Grand National" was first applied to the Liverpool Grand Steeple Chase, there must be a case for it to be seen as the most significant year in English sporting history.

I suppose when you have been doing the same thing for 178 years, you develop a certain savoir faire.

Nonetheless, there is still something pretty extraordinary about a small country town with a population, according to the 2011 census, of 11,619, laying on an event of this magnitude and complexity, come rain or shine (this is England after all), on an annual basis.

The garden-party panache of Pimm’s and blazers of wondrous patterns and hues I had expected.

What came as more of a surprise was the mundane, workaday efficiency: traffic flow that was much less gummed-up than I had anticipated; parking attendants who knew the score; catering that was both fairly-priced and - hallelujah - varied, even for hoi polloi; security that contrived to remain low-key and unobtrusive, notwithstanding recent events; and a race management operation that oversaw the smooth running of 87 separate contests, from 8.30am to 7.35pm, with nary a hair out of place.

Then again, smarter cookies than me have spotted plenty to admire in the Henley modus operandi over the years.

Baron Pierre de Coubertin, who visited in 1888, famously modelled the composition of the original International Olympic Committee (IOC) to an extent on Henley’s Stewards, the self-electing, currently 58-strong, body which organises the regatta.

According to David Goldblatt, author of The Games – a global history of the Olympics, de Coubertin wrote that he formed the IOC along the lines of the Henley Regatta, "composed of three concentric circles: a small core of earnest and hard-working members; a nursery of willing members ready to be taught; finally a façade of more or less useful people whose presence satisfied national pretensions at the same time as it gave prestige to the committee as a whole".

What follows are a few impressions from my first day at this rather wonderful sporting institution.

• Not all about the sport.

The thing you quickly realise about Henley is that while a seemingly endless succession of two-boat races sweeps by on the one mile 550 yard course down from Temple Island, they are the unremitting focus of almost nobody’s attention.

This may, admittedly, be different on the fifth, climactic, day. But on the Thursday when I visited, the actual rowing was more part of the scenery; it had largely served its purpose by ensuring that we all, thousands and thousands of us, materialised on this particular stretch of river at this particular time.

Yes, of course, many would have been ready to cheer on a given school or rowing club at their appointed hour. But this hardly accounts for the eight, nine, ten hours that some spend there. This must be the result of the regatta’s very special atmosphere. 

As a certified sports nut, this might seem disconcerting to begin with, but if you stop to think things through, it bespeaks a very sensible approach to event marketing which others could learn from.

You see, not to put too fine a point on it, most of the races, certainly at this relatively early stage of the regatta, are boring: crews are not usually evenly matched, so they develop into processions within the first few hundred metres.

Rather than trying to pretend that such contests are compelling viewing, the organisers appear, over decades, to have taken the view that they would concentrate on making other aspects of the spectator experience as pleasant and memorable as possible.

You can gauge their success from the fact that more than 300,000 are attracted to the event each year.

(One of the details I loved, incidentally, was that on the results sheets, any winning margin of more than five lengths seemed to be conveyed by the delicate adverb "easily".)

I for one feel very grateful that Henley - and rowing - has not gone down the route of other sports which are attempting to spice up their appeal by adopting shorter formats and other gimmicks such as flashing lights and bursts of loud music.

While every sport is different and I can understand the lure of TV money, the problem with that approach, in my opinion, is that you might end up introducing shorter and shorter formats, brighter and brighter lights and so on, to maintain the adrenalin rush of excitement.

I would also like to doff my cap to the Henley commentators, whose words were relayed over the loudspeaker system on the riverbank.

In an age of exaggeration and hyperbole, their contribution was gloriously laconic. There was no attempt whatsoever to inject bogus excitement or uncertainty where there was none; just a deadpan, studiedly neutral, summary of stroke rates, length of lead and location on course. "At the progress board" was one yardstick; "passing the hole in the wall" another.

• The importance of catering.

I have seldom felt part of a more contented crowd at a sports event. I put this down partly to the tranquil, quintessentially English, summer setting - but also to the canvas mall of corporate entertainment venues, bars and vendors that stretched almost unbroken along the Berkshire bank from Henley Bridge to Temple Island a mile-and-a-half away.

Especially at events such as this where people tend to make a day of it, it seems to me that if you get the catering offer right, you take a giant stride towards keeping your customers satisfied.

At Henley, the catering offer – bearing in mind as well a) that rowers have hearty appetites and b) that spectators had the option of picnicking beside their Morgans and Audis in the various car parks - was spot on.

For one thing, it was refreshingly eclectic: I bought pizza from a converted van/dormobile called Theodore and brownies from a Welsh-based vendor whose paper bags bore the slogan "Bite Me" and whose "cottage industry" has been successful enough over 10 years to enable her husband now to work for her.

There was also a Cuban cigar shop and a number of hat-vendors, as well as a Costco wholesale.

Presumably in part because of the healthy levels of competition, pricing was, by and large, fair.

Now I know sponsorship is a huge money-spinner for some events. But, for me, the exceptional ambiance that such a mélange of merchants contributes to cannot help but call into question the sort of deals which confer a virtual monopoly over on-site food or soft drink supplies on one particular sponsor.

This might be less important at a relatively short event such as a football match; and I can see how a relationship with one single supplier is probably easier to manage for an event-owner whose prime concern must be the sport.

Nonetheless, my day at Henley emphatically underlined what event-owners may be passing up in return for a sponsorship cheque.

• The balance between tradition and innovation.

 This is very much a first impression, but this was another area in which I felt that the Henley organisers are getting it right.

For example, having strolled up to the start, I was charmed to note that boats are still held "in the blocks", as it were, by real human beings in life-jackets and grey tracksuits, lying face down on platforms in the river.

I also thought that the handsome, and I imagine rather venerable, white-hulled umpires’ launches with their polished mahogany decks and Classical names - Bosporos, Herakles, Amaryllis - were the out-and-out stars of the show, giving proceedings a real touch of class.

A lesser sports event would no doubt have pensioned them off by now in the name of commercialism and progress, in favour of some high-viz monstrosity carpeted with sponsors’ logos.

And yet the regatta is also a relatively early adopter of camera-wielding drones. When I checked I was told that this was the third year they had been in operation.

This suggests that while the event retains its veneer of peerless tradition, the organisers are prepared to embrace innovation when they feel it is beneficial.

• Blazers

Outrageously ostentatious club blazers are clearly another rowing tradition. I did wonder though whether, even here, there might be method behind the madness.

As one old hand explained to me, old rowers like to return again and again to the manicured lawns with their crew-mates to mark the anniversary of the day that they "made it to Henley".

If scouting for old pals on the crowded riverbank, the knowledge that they will be attired in matching cerise, amber and peppermint striped blazers would, I can only imagine, make the job much easier.

• Tea

Finally, as a cricket-lover, what an unalloyed delight it is at last to have found another sports event civilised enough to incorporate a tea interval.