At lunch at the Nursery End you really have no choice where you end up as the crowd river sweeps you along. Yesterday I was deposited on the bank next to the Wolf Blass Wine stall. Hmmm, what to do? Fortunately they were offering Chardonnay Semillon, something which gives me a headache as I’m drinking it instead of after.

Slipping back into the stream of people I found some friends who were lunching on the Nursery Ground outfield. Lord’s is a trustworthy place, where spectators are allowed to bring in a bottle of wine or a few beers to sip during the day. Nothing like that in Australia, where cans often go straight from the hand to the feet of fine leg. One day at the SCG Pat Symcox, the South Africa spinner, had an un-nibbled roast chicken hurled at him and one night at the Gabba there was an announcement over the PA saying anyone seen throwing paper planes on to the field will be ejected. Plastics cup of light beer have since been introduced at most grounds.

Being at Lord’s demands good behaviour. No streakers, no protestors and no stands full of people singing insults to great-great-great-great-great-great grandchildren of convicts. It’s one week of genteel relief. Out the back of the pavilion there are picnics in the Coronation Gardens and clinking glasses brought from home. Can’t imagine that happening at Edgbaston or the Gabba.