That England, this England

This summer is all about the Ashes. Not this year's, of course, but the '05 Ashes. Radio programmes, live shows, and written media all seem to be falling over themselves to either bask in the sunlit memories, to bemoan the wasted ten years, or both.

How many cast their minds back beyond that golden summer, to one year previous? Certainly on my return to Lord's on Thursday, I found myself recalling 2004 rather than 2005; my first experience of Test cricket in the flesh. Personal parallels are present, though not entirely coincidental. Opponents: New Zealand. Day attended: the first. The company: my father, and others. The tier: Edrich Upper.

I've retained few distinct memories of that day, perhaps thanks to the opening grind of Mark Richardson (93 off 266), unexciting though laudable. As an introduction to Test cricket, it wasn't gripping, although it was perhaps a just representation; the sort of day that commentators would, with a hint of euphemism, describe as "real Test cricket".

There's only one survivor from the XIs that faced off in 2004: one Brendon McCullum. He batted at No. 9 to make 5. Not the most auspicious arrival in England.

Talking of arrivals, 2004 was not only pre-T20I, it was pre-celebrity-bell-ringers, a young Lord's tradition, only dating back to 2007, which has nonetheless quickly become part of the fabric of the English Test summer. Perhaps the MCC could next consider implementing the proposal resulting from one of my party mis-hearing the PA announcement as the "celebrity ballerina": I can't be the only one who would welcome seeing Dickie Bird pirouetting on the outfield. His limb movement as an umpire surely betokened a natural affinity for dance.

Unlike 2004, pre-match I realised, with mixed emotion, that I really wasn't very concerned about the result. New Zealand largely are to thank for this; their remarkable blend of aggression and humility has captured the hearts of cricket lovers all over the globe. Combine that with an England team that, unfairly, is viewed as carrying the weight of chaotic off-field management, and it's very easy to slip into supporting the visitors. Many would like to see England become more Australian, but for my money, I'd rather England reinvented themselves in the New Zealand mould, where they become not merely respected by neutrals but loved.

Certainly Lord's is a warm place, and the crowd can typically be relied upon to generously applaud all comers. There's little animosity on show; somehow I think the atmosphere will be a tad more heated for the Australian visit. Yet when McCullum wins and bowls, I discover that for all my pre-match ambivalence, I've swung gently back to definite English support. Much as I admire the New Zealand new-ball attack, I realise I can more happily tolerate weak English bowling than batting.

Nevertheless, the losses don't greatly pain me. I greet England wickets with firstly disappointment and then laughter, particularly when the dismissal is as comic as Ben Stokes' leave to Mark Craig, reminiscent of Chris Rogers' to Graeme Swann here in 2013.

Whatever the year, first times stand out. May 20, 2004: England cap No. 624 makes his debut, aged 27. May 21, 2015: he's somewhere above my head, off to the right in the media centre, apparently informing Jonathan Agnew that he's sounding "unbelievably negative". Didn't see that one coming. I didn't get to see Andrew Strauss bat on that day, but this time round I did get to see the revelation of another 27-year-old opener: cap No. 666. For my own prophecy, then, in 2026 I think we can count on Adam Lyth, director, England cricket, being grilled by former Leicestershire bowler and TMS commentator Matthew Hoggard.

Realms of fantasy, perhaps; talking of which, I can't help feeling that the helmeted Lyth recalls a fantasy-film dwarf footsoldier wielding his wooden weapon on the battlefield. Indeed, for the first hour, battlefield is the right term for the green pitch. Lyth goes. Gary Ballance departs. Ian Bell falls. Alastair Cook stumbles. We're lurching from fantasy to horror, as we are served the macabre, perverse delight of an English batting collapse. Day four ticket holders are twitching on Twitter. It's context like this that makes the Root-Stokes regroup so delectable. This truly was a day of "real Test cricket"; fire fought with fire, quality bowling and quality batting, to provide the spectator experience that was lacking on that day in 2004.

At the conclusion of that match, the victorious *former England captain promptly retires. His young middle-order Yorkshire replacement guides England to victory in the second Test, in Leeds, where New Zealand are pulverised by nine wickets, and in the next Ashes, a young England side pummels the Australians to a 2-1 finish.

History or prophecy? Joe Root's ascension cannot be too far away, but it's hard to conceive Cook doing a Nasser Hussain. Whatever happens, after 11 years of observation from the stands, I know my viewpoint.

Sign me up for a 2nd XI, please. You'll find me in the Edrich Upper.