Hameed and Petersen show diversity in adversity as Lord's absorbs the Brexit vote

Lancashire 298 for 3 (Petersen 105*, Hameed 89) v Middlesex
Scorecard

Britain is riven by conflict, uncertainty stalks a disunited kingdom and the future is hard to comprehend. County cricket at Lord's offered a chance to retreat for a while into something quintessentially English. Even if nobody can say for certain these days what quintessential Englishness actually is.

At such times, the rituals of Championship cricket can seem comfortingly timeless. Just skip past the news as you unfold your Sunday newspaper, alight upon the crossword and watch Middlesex bowl, and Lancashire bat, while you muse determinedly on seven across. Facial fortitude in the face of adversity: 5-5-3.

To those who cannot rest during the biggest schism in the UK in a lifetime, the quietly-changing patterns made by the white figures on the outfield as the game's rituals and strategies were played out once more had never seemed more pointless. One England player with a broad perspective on life has already confided as much.

There was a period at Lord's on Sunday when members of the shadow cabinet were resigning faster than Lancashire were scoring boundaries. There again, Haseeb Hameed was playing himself in at the time.

That, it should quickly be added, was a cheap gag. That Hameed is a player of some discipline has been evident all season and his 89 was another impressive addition to a fine debut season. He is a batsman who deals in certainties, building his case carefully and thoughtfully. He would never make a politician. But his range is already expanding and one day he will probably play for England. Ashley Giles, Lancashire's coach, called him "a big talent" and so he is.

For nearly five hours, Hameed promised to follow up his maiden championship hundred against Warwickshire at Old Trafford with another. Instead, he fell during an excellent over from Toby Roland-Jones, escaping with a boundary as he fended him over the slips, but dismissed three balls later, a decent catch at the second attempt by Sam Robson at first slip.

The hundred instead fell to the South African Alviro Petersen, playing for Lancashire as a Kolpak registration, a freedom-of-movement ruling handed down by the EU in 2003 and which the ECB might one day choose to close, assuming Brexit actually does take place. Petersen, 35 and in the last year of his contract, has no need to worry: by then he would be long retired.

It was to county cricket where John Major retreated after losing the 1997 election, although being an advocate of a classless society he chose The Oval rather than Lord's. David Cameron had been at Lord's for the Test, but regrettably he did not put in an appearance. He would have been safe here.

Political chat? Not today, old boy. Best avoided at times of crisis, even at Lord's. Especially at Lord's. Among the MCC members scattered in front of the pavilion, it was time to tighten the egg-and-bacon tie, gaze into mid-distance and adopt an air of stoicism. Cohesion would return. The crisis would pass.

Lord's always feels close to the seat of power. Outside the ground, a poster old-fashioned enough to have been first designed before the EU came into being still advertised the Eton v Harrow match that had been scheduled for Friday: the day the nation dwelt on the reality of the Brexit vote in the EU referendum.

Eton v Harrow: the last school match still to be played at Lord's. Eton: school of a Conservative prime minister who resigned on Friday, his imagined legacy in ruins, and the school of the colleague who fought him and won, and yet who must now be spending his hours considering his poisoned chalice.

How was the cricket, dear? "Slow day, slow pitch, too damn slow." Lancashire, 298 for 3 by the close, might make 500 and then Middlesex might well do the same. A familiar pattern. This season's flatter pitches have come alongside a wet summer. June is nearly out and Middlesex have drawn six of their seven matches. Lancashire are leaders, three games won, but only 16 points separate them from Warwickshire in fifth, the season still amorphous as it heads towards its mid-point.

There was a theory that the pitches would quicken when they moved to the higher side of the sloping square, but such optimism looked unfounded. Wickets were hard to come by: perhaps shortages had already begun. Tom Smith was lbw on the front foot to James Franklin, Luke Procter edged to second slip, but the afternoon was wicketless and only Hameed fell after tea.

Still, while fear of another stalemate took hold, laid out before these stout observers of the county scene was a game with an innate sense of decency. Enough to stir the belief that England still shared a common set of values: tolerance, a belief in the rule of law, a sense of fair play and decency. But Lord's does not speak for England, and has not done so for a long time.

Yet the games go on. Do you want a short leg? Should cover move a little squarer? Even today, with the nation at odds, there are people who would choose to spend their final hours gently watching county cricket even as an asteroid heading towards the earth.

All day, they observed the minutiae of the game as patiently as ever: how Hameed worked the ball skilfully into the leg side; how the off spin of Ollie Rayner tied him down so much that he managed only two considered off-side pushes against him in his first eight overs - the second to take him to 50; or how his emphatic hook into the closed-off Warner Stand was the first six of his Lancashire career. One vigorous extra cover drive against Rayner was a delight. His ability to concentrate on the job was strangely comforting.

The suggestion that the county game can be a retreat from the harsh realities of real life is unconscionable to many. It must adapt to survive, it must be central to life itself. This time, though, a retreat would do for the time being. Time to watch the game with a stiff upper lip. That's it: that's seven across, another one done. Fold the paper, close out thoughts of the great divide, life goes on. Just nobody knows in quite what fashion.