All sorts at Lord's

Blogger Paul Holden enjoys the first Test of the season at Lord's even with all the rain. He writes in Sideline Slogger:

Lord’s is truly a citadel of cricket. Every single one of you must come here before you die. Cricket oozes from these pores in St John’s Wood – there is nowhere better to be watching cricket. But while it is a magnet for cricket-lovers from around the world, the weird and wonderful eccentrics of London also gravitate toward it. For example, as I waited at the MCC reception, I heard grunting and groaning and a chap emerged with a weird looking racquet, in top to toe white towelling. He’d been unleashing on another bloke similarly attired, as they played what must be one of the most ridiculous sports ever invented: real tennis. Just what the point of a court promoting another sport is doing at the home of cricket is not clear to me, but there you go. And sitting in front of us in The Mound Stand was a match made in heaven: a husband and wife listening to the BBC’s Test Match Special via one cheeky earphone each. A beautiful thing.

Hamish McDouall is less enamoured by the ground. He writes in Googlies & Grass Stains.

Lord’s has long been called Headquarters, but I reject that. I don’t want to let this lozenge-shaped part of St John’s Wood dominate world cricket. I prefer the spongy banks of the Basin Reserve, or the urban grubbiness of the Oval, or the hedonistic chaos of Queen’s Park Oval in Port of Spain. I also prefer cricket at Liardet Park, or Glover Park, or Sunnyvale. Or on a beach where the lick of the waves at square leg means six and out. Cricket does not need busts of W.G. Grace, rolled up copies of The Times and the whiff of Pimms to buoy it. It is a better game than that. It is a game that has made as many coalminers as accountants famous, a game that embraces Indian princes, and Taranaki farmers. It is also a game that doesn’t need, or even desire, umbrellas. Of any hue.