A scrum-down in a Colombo cafe

"You can't get many days like this," I venture, as the harassed Aussie manageress takes a breather before burrowing back into the scrum. She looks back at me with hollow eyes. "Every day is like this," she retorts in the politest possible terms. "And it doesn't get any easier."

She's absolutely right, of course. A barful of baying Barmy Armyites is a challenge, no matter what day of the week it is. But she is absolutely wrong on so many counts, and a quick glance around the room provides all the sepia-tinged confirmation imaginable. For today's the day of the rugby World Cup final, and fate has served up the perfect venue for an Ashes battle royal.

Don't be confused by the name. Colombo's Cricket Club Café may sound like the sort of wrong turning you'd take after a night of pre-match warm-ups. But for a day of Anglo-Aussie rivalry, there can be few more appropriate places on earth. Divided into three separate bar areas, each more rammed and raucous than the next, the café is run by an Australian, which is all the more incentive for it to be overrun by Englishmen. Much like Sydney's Telstra Stadium itself, in fact.

But it is not just the Barmy Army who are here to witness an historic sporting occasion. The café's reputation has been forged on an unrivalled collection of cricket memorabilia, much of which - unsurprisingly - has a distinctly Anglo-Australian theme. Signed bats and matchwinning shirts hang across every doorway, and the nostalgia-fest is not limited to tangible artefacts. On the previous evening, for example, the TV above the bar had been showing peaceful black-and-white footage of Don Bradman's career. Peaceful, that is, until the Bodyline series jerked onto the newsreels. Seventy years on, and another blood-and-thunder encounter is about to take place.

England's fans have come in their hundreds, crammed into every nook of the bar, rubbing shoulders with each other and icons of past glories. Numerous cuttings from the Melbourne Argus adorn the walls - "England face stiff battle for draw," reads one headline from the 1946-47 series. "England makes magnificent comeback in Test," reads another from the same series. And as the epic rugby encounter twists and turns towards its phenomenal conclusion, every wall seems to have some trenchant comment to add to the mix.

When Ben Kay commits an absolute howler with the try-line at his mercy, you can almost hear Steve Waugh mutter from his shrine by the door: "You've just dropped the World Cup, mate." When Elton Flatley claws Australia back into contention - twice - Allan Border's approval radiates across the room. The little Aussie battler. Now there's a phrase that has not been in vogue for a while.

Australian voices trill over the hubbub from time to time, but for the most part the room is a baritone chatter of very nervous Englishmen. One witless fool attempts to liven things up with that most numbing of chants ("Barmy Army" ... [clap clap] ... repeat ad nauseam), but thankfully he is entirely ignored. This game deserves hymns of praise or reverential silence. Nothing else will do.

Australia's first equaliser catches everyone off guard ("What happens now?"). Their second equaliser pricks even the most optimistic bubbles in the room. Somebody somewhere is surely chewing through their umbrella handle as those desperate final seconds unfold, although there are no reported heart attacks, unlike the Oval Test of 1882. And then Sir Jonny arises with that drop-goal ...

When I regain my senses, I find that I am sat in a bay window, tucking into a portion of Boycott's Beef Stroganoff (alternative delicacies include Beefy's Bolognese, Gatting's Garlic Prawns - and, most incongruously of all, Viv's Veggieburger, which is hardly a dish to associate with the most meat-eating batsman in history). The bar has drained, and so have the emotions.

Outside the window, there is a signpost which points towards the major Test venue of each cricket nation. Lord's lies 8715 kms to the west. The MCG is 8341 kms to the east. It is entirely appropriate. So much distance between the countries, but so little to separate them at the end.