Spare a thought for Elin and Angelica. In what seemed an enjoyable enough encounter, the Swedish backpackers met some English lads at the pub last night. In what appeared an innocent enough arrangement, the girls agreed to an outing the following day. In what many would view as a cruel twist of backpacking fate, the girls found themselves at the Gabba Test match this morning, smack in the middle of the Barmy Army. In true Viking spirit, however, the girls aren't about to crumble, admit defeat and go shopping. They're here for the duration. "I have no idea what's going on," says Elin, clutching a beer in one hand and a small Union Jack in the other. "I'm trying to get a handle on this game, but so far it's beyond me. We've got nothing like this in Sweden."

Angelica, meanwhile, is attempting a search for meaning within the song lyrics. Carl from Oxford has given her a copy of the official songbook, dutifully entitled Songs Of Praise, but she can't fathom why the only ditties anyone is warbling have more to do with matters of questionable parentage than sport. She 's puzzled by notions that Andy Caddick's ears may suggest largeness in other physical departments, or quips about Mark Waugh's fondness for gambling.

"I'm having fun," she says, watching the battalion point, en masse, towards the scoreboard. "I don't get it, but I'm having a great day," she says as the man in the curly orange wig pushes past with a lager-laden tray. "I don't think I'll ever work out what the players are doing, but so what?" she says, as the shirts come off around her, revealing the underdone male torsos of the Mother Country.

Ponder the plight of Steve from London. He lost his voice on Thursday. "I've saved up all year for this," he whispers. "There's nothing like an Ashes series. You can't beat the tradition and rivalry and we're here supporting our team. We won't let up for a second." And they don't. The witticisms and chants come thicker than a decent bottle of tomato ketchup and faster than the winning horse at the Melbourne Cup. Elin and Angelica don't even try to join in the "Who ate all the pies?", the 'Same old Aussies shagging sheep" or the oft-repeated (and directed to no-one in particular) "you fat bastard". They're happy just to soak up the atmosphere and memorise the experience for the non-believers back in Stockholm. "It's beyond explanation," says Elin. "It's about enjoyment for its own sake."

Shed a tear for Garry of Brisbane. In what must be considered the silliest mistake since Nasser Hussain won the toss on the first day and elected to field, Garry has chosen to sit behind the Barmy Army. "I can't see a bloody thing," he says. "I keep asking them to sit down but no-one takes any notice. I'm getting really annoyed." He walks up and down the rows, pleading with the 200 or so ramshackle troops in the enclave to have some respect for other patrons. Even non-cricket lovers like Elin and Angelica realise he's got a snowball's chance in Queensland of receiving a satisfactory response. Whispering Steve, however, is approaching the problem with pragmatism: "Why doesn't he just sit somewhere else?" he croaks. "He's spoiling everyone's fun."

Pause for a moment's homage to Jason from Barnet. Dressed as a Knight of the Realm, courtesy of the local hire shop, he stands out, even among this mob of non-shrinking violets. "I'm on a crusade," he says, waving his plastic sword so proficiently in the air that Errol Flynn looks a rank amateur in comparison. When life imitates sporting fanaticism and Jason has to take his unwell girlfriend back to the hotel, the irony isn't lost on anyone. After all, rescuing damsels in distress is situated page one, paragraph one, on a knight's job description.

All praise to Sergeant Sam of the Queensland Constabulary. She's had to put up with this all day. She's watched as they joined plastic beer-cups together to form a 30-metre snake. She's watched as they've turned redder than a lorryload of lobsters under the ozone-layerless Australian sun. And she's loved every minute of it. "They're a good bunch," she says, more concerned with keeping an eye on the shenanigans in the stands than the play on the field. "They've made up a song about me, and I even posed for photos with a white plastic pig. It's hilarious."

So spare a thought for those who have never spent a day with the Barmy Army. The phrase "Life's rich tapestry" comes to mind. And what of Elin and Angelica? The Swedish don't give up that easily. They made it through to stumps.

Christine Davey is a freelance writer based in Victoria, Australia.

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