''WE are going to see the Stones, man!'' was the hushed whisper permeating Harthill Service Station as I waited to rendezvous with my dad. Smart-dressed couples, leather-clad wasters, moustachioed drunkards, painted bikers, champagne-popping squares, even the ageing hippie relieving himself against his friend's car door all joined in the sotto voce chant. ''The Stones, man!''

Inside Murrayfield the feeling was the same, multiplied a thousandfold. Large lips, both real and foam, were waved energetically in the air and eventually ''The Stones, man!'' Jumpin' Jack Flashed on to stage. Ronnie smoked a cigarette, Mick pranced and frolicked, Keith moved no faster than he had to, Charlie stayed aloof, and Bill, well, he was playing in Carlisle last night. Not to worry, though, because everything else was intact, if not in mint condition, and the old ''Stones, man!'' magic lifted the far-from-full stadium. Why wasn't it full?

Well, many factors contributed, all of them unconnected with the music. Which is a crying shame. ''The Stones, man!'' know how to play to a crowd of any size and with some of the best blues-rock songs ever written in their back pockets, they are an unadulterated joy to watch.

Honky Tonk Woman, complete with a huge naked bronze statue of the said lady, was cheeky, cheeky, cheeky. Give Me Shelter was powerful and dreamy, and Paint It Black was as morose as ever. Then it all changed into an ''In The Round'' blues show. Glorious.

They may be kicking on a bit and it might not be the coolest thing to say, but I hope ''The Stones, man!'' continue to play live for decades to come. Just as long as Keith stops singing.