Lord's is still a place of magic

Middlesex and MCC members with whom I am sitting. Yet the oldest of them points out that the ground is always changing and asks those of us under 70 to say what is left from the days of our youth.

In fact, when I look only the massive Pavilion stands as it did, with one minor exception.

The Pavilion is a marvellous expression of imperial confidence. The famous Long Room is the more imposing for being totally uncluttered.

The cricket theme extends to the deeply recessed gents' toilets where the doors are marked Out and Not Out. The teams come round through the building to gain entry in to their dressing-rooms and an ill-chosen moment may mean that the member or visitor confronts on the staircase a side returning hot, sweaty and irritable from an afternoon's leather chasing.

The exception I mentioned is the small and oddly named Q Stand.

It lies immediately to the right of the Pavilion and I always imagine Basil Radford walking through the passage to it to meet a young man who looks very like Rex Harrison.

''G'day, Caldicott. There's trouble on the frontier again.''

''Yes sir.''

''You better get out there straight away. You're fluent in Pushtu, I gather.''

''Only the Eastern dialect sir.''

''No matter. See what you can do with the Fakir.''

''Right oh sir.''

''Of course you'll miss the Hampshire match.''

''Bad luck sir, but someone has to do it.''

Lord's is like that, it needs a certain mental robustness to avoid giving the day up to wallowing in nostalgia.

The truth is that most of the building changes have been enormous improvements.

The Press will be glad to leave the Warmer Stand, it was always hard to tell what the ball was doing when you were watching from long leg.

The Arabian towers on the Tavern side are a vast improvement on the featureless Mound Stand which once stood there and the new grandstand will be infinitely better than the old 1930's effort which preceded it. It looked fine on the bookcovers but was quite hopeless for

seeing.

The new electronic scoreboards are quick and informative and show everything but the batsman's next of kin. I'll continue to score myself never the less, it's a great aid to concentration.

Those who have not been to Lord's for a

couple of years may spend a couple of minutes trying to locate the Father Time weather-vane. It is a poetic concept, Father Time removing the bails, and it seems to get more so every year that I go.

There is something though about this cricket HQ that seems to impart longevity, for every spring at the first county game senior citizens hobble back in against all the odds.

The balconies are an interesting mix of Middlesex members - ''I only broke my bleedin' leg, didn't I?'' and the chap in the linen jacket, tan slacks and egg and tomato MCC tie who will turn out to own two-thirds of Herefordshire.

Meanwhile, out on the field 11 men wearing the badge of Middlesex are dismantling the wyvern-wearing men of Somerset. Justin Langer makes a monumental 233 not out. A flawless and enjoyable innings, were it not for the fact that Justin is Australian and will almost certainly bat at number three for them against us next time round. Worse, one of the bowlers he is dismantling most comprehensively in the second innings is Andrew Caddick, likely to be one of our strike bowlers.

More cheerfully, Angus Fraser, brought up in the old school, is displaying the bowling virtues of line and length. No scalding pace, simply make the batsman play at every ball. Oh, and move it a little and move it late.

One final thing about this lovely ground.

It has a blimpish image and I confess that I've found its spokesman, Brian Johnson, hard to take at times.

The ground being ''brimmers'' or an LBW decision ''plumbers'' never seemed to me the quintessence of wit. But a pensioner going to Lord's can, in London, this most hideously overpriced of cities spend a whole day there for #3.50.

If you're in the neighbourhood go on a county match day. There is no better cricket.