IT is a mission attempted by thousands of Welshmen every two years. Max Boyce calls it HQ with a touch of irony, and it is to the rugby fraternity of England.

Twickenham, or Twickers if you want to be twee, is an impressive sporting citadel these days, with its 82,000 capacity exceeding the Millennium Stadium's 74,500.

It seemed strange arriving there on an October Saturday far from the madding crowd. Up the road at The Stoop Harlequins were playing Bath in a Guinness Premiership early that evening.

But, aside from the occasional fan clad in their club colours killing time until the late kick-off, all was pretty serene.

On entry we paused to produce our tickets. These, though, were not the normal ones associated with such a venue.

For a steward read a receptionist, for we were in the London Marriott Hotel Twickenham and it is very much part of the ground complex.

We headed for one of the six suites named after English Grand Slam captains. Adjoining the bedroom is a private dining lounge — an upmarket hospitality box — with balcony looking directly on to the pitch, which was being nursed by some not inexpensive heaters encouraging the right growth for the battles ahead.

Talking of expense, what price a suite over the weekend of February 5 to 7 when Wales try to keep their recent run going against England?

Well the first thing to say is it is not cheap, but that is no shock. Sport is big business and the days of minimum impact on the wallet — and that is only price of a ticket — are long gone, unless you are lucky enough to get the call as a corporate guest.

We are talking thousands of pounds here, so the company route is preferable, unless you are a money- no-object millionaire and there are apparently more of them who are members of Harlequins than there are in the whole of Wales.

Anyway it was a great view of the ground.

It was back down in the lift again and by now any fears that Swing Low, Sweet Chariot would provide the piped musical accompaniment had thankfully been dispelled. Quite why a 100-year-old Negro spiritual is the English rugby anthem I have never worked out, but it wasn't something I had to worry about then.

On every Twickenham trip we have spent most of the time doing what is required in nearby Richmond. Bars like the Sun and the Orange Tree are more than familiar with satisfying the demands — OK the thirsts — of rugby fans, but a visit there anytime is a pleasure.

There is something about the place. It is a bustling centre in its own right, and its residents include Rob Brydon, Mick Jagger, Pete Townsend and Sir Dickie Attenborough.

Attractions include Ham House and Garden on the banks of the Thames.

Kew Gardens has 250 years of history as the world's most famous garden, Hampton Court Palace gets its deserved share of visitors, while the expanses of Richmond Park also take you out of a city environment.

There are the usual shops and a few more which evade that category. Some of these can be found in the narrow side streets which lead on to the green. Prices can err upwards, but there may be a bargain around the corner too. Richmond Green is ideal for a wander, and so too is the riverbank. Many people have the same idea, but the pace is attractively leisurely, although there is plenty of room for runners as well.

There are plenty of social ports of call along the way, but they are all in keeping with what is a quality part of London, although the address is firmly Surrey.

Back at Twickenham — the ground and the hotel — it was time for a bit of fine dining in a relaxed atmosphere at the 22 South Chophouse restaurant and further meander around the 156-bedroom Marriott.

It opened last April under a management agreement with the Rugby Football Union and is an integral part of the South Stand redevelopment.

Think Twickenham and you think the ground. Think Richmond and you think of the whole package. It is a fair comparison, the former not quite living up to the reputation of its near neighbour as a place to visit in its own right.

But the continuing riverside walkway into Twickenham is another worthwhile refuge and the names of pubs like The Garryowen and The William Webb gave a clue as to what it is best known for — the oval ball game.

Our flying visit ended with a call into The Cabbage Patch, self-styled as the world's most famous rugby pub. The friendly barman was from Ebbw Vale and had been away for five-and-a-half years. He was in no hurry to go home, not seeing that much future in the valleys and thinking more in terms of relocating to Bristol or Bath.

There was to be no imminent return to Wales for him, but we were heading west and soon, with a good time behind us.