Wimbledon has its Henman Hill and yesterday afternoon Lord's had its equivalent: Panesar Lawn. The stretch of grass behind the Compton and Edrich Stands is better known as the Nursery Ground but, as England plugged away for longer than Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal took to finish their singles final a week earlier, the agonising near misses of one man stole attention.

MCC has taken a far-sighted initiative by installing a big screen on the plot, which means that spectators who fancy a stroll around the food stalls can stay in touch with play or spread themselves wider than their seats allow. And, as runs came along at a trickle, this was a good day for leg-stretching.

Panesar continues to grab the popular imagination but, as the game moved well beyond its halfway stage towards the climax of today, he started to resemble Henman on semi-finals day. He tried, tried again and then tried harder, but for all the optimistic whoops, balls narrowly missed the edge or fell short of fielders.

A delay between the real-time action and transmission on the screen created a double echo whenever Panesar bellowed one of his famous appeals. First would come Panesar's roar, then a chorus from the 25,000 or so watching live and another cheer from those following the big screen.

Panesar remains mystified by his standing, which goes beyond cult status. In the early days crowds used to laugh at his fielding mishaps and rudimentary batting. Over the past two years they have come to appreciate his ability to bowl spin and accept that he is not just a passing throwback to an era when most players were one-dimensional.

People expect more from him nowadays, on the field and in the wider sphere. He is the most famous Luton Town supporter since the death of Eric Morecambe and was asked last week for his opinion on their 30-point deduction for financial irregularities. Had he slipped into his usual cricket-speak he would have said that the club should have done the basics well and put their receipts in the right areas.

On Saturday, when he took four wickets, he prospered from batsmen looking to attack. Wiser the second time around, they still used their feet, but to smother turn at the pitch of the ball. When he went over the wicket, Neil McKenzie simply padded him away, carefully monitoring the odd one to spit from the rough.

Panesar can be deferential of status and would have felt at home in the relaxed environment of the Lawn. It offered a proletarian counterpoint to the grandeur of the Harris Garden on the opposite side of the ground behind the pavilion with its champagne, oysters and seafood restaurant. Stallholders, at least, were happy with the pace of play. They talk of batsmen clearing bars; the ascetic McKenzie filled them.

Even the connoisseurs must have struggled with this docile pace. Assimilating all of Michael Vaughan's fielding changes kept the mind active and England created the odd chance from time to time, but a total of 115 runs in the first two sessions stretched all but a monkish definition of entertainment.

On Panesar Lawn, people found their own ways of filling gaps between the spells of their spinner. A couple of small boys set up an impromptu game with a miniature bat, broken only when a parent of the pushy type synonymous with tennis broke up play to advise on the virtues of playing straight.

Elsewhere groups lolled horizontally in that reclining position adopted by the decadent front pair on photographs of Victorian-era cricket teams, keeping half an eye on the big screen but confident of missing nothing more exciting than a defensive push if their attention happened to wander from the semi-serious business.

Unfortunately, only so much lazing was possible on this Sunday afternoon. At 5 o'clock precisely, the stewards called time, began to clear Panesar Lawn and rope off the grass. “Rules are rules,” one of the yellow-bibs explained. And which rule was that? “It's just the rule.”

Well, as the brains behind Twenty20 may realise one day, you can have too much of a good thing. And people had better not get used to this particular treat. Over the next few years the Nursery Ground will alter beyond recognition as plans for flats and a hotel are due to reach fruition. Perhaps they should call it Monty Towers.