What could a grey, dank day in Edinburgh possibly have in common with an Ashes Test in 35C Brisbane? First clue: it's not streakers. Alcohol? Too obvious. Final clue: it involves a spectator with ropes for vocal chords bellowing: "Give us a B, give us an A, give us an R."

Everywhere England go, the Barmy Army goes with them, even when hotel rooms are as scarce as red squirrels and sunshine, like they were this week with the Edinburgh Festival in full swing. The motley crew were in typically good voice in Stockbridge yesterday, breaking the gloom with all that cacophonous droning as England and Scotland begat the newest rivalry in international cricket.

Kevin Pietersen and Co dominated the cricket, predictably, but were defied for long spells. If only the same could be said of the crowd dynamic. The southerners had gathered in fancy dress on the eastern side of the ground and went through their merry repertoire without any hint of a challenge from the locals. Scotland's arrival on the cricket scene is still so new that a kilted, inebriated fanbase has yet to be mobilised.

Out of nowhere the Barmy Army broke into song as the players appeared at 12.30 for a belated start. The forecast rain, of course, had arrived on cue about half an hour before start time and gave the ground a morning soaking that brought rueful and knowing expressions from those who had seen it all before. In 2005 Australia came here, saw very little and were conquered by the weather. Last year, ditto Pakistan.

Alternative entertainment caught the eye. An aircraft circled at 2,000ft and deposited five parachutists from the Golden Lions Scottish Infantry Parachute Display Team. They arced their way down onto the ground, even managing to avoid the soaked and sandbagged cover sheets that threatened to wreck their ankles. The third jumper was Lance Corporal Jaco Pierneef, who remarked with mirth later on the fact he originated from the same country as the two team captains.

Despite that incongruous footnote, this was unmistakably Scotland v England: a typical outcome of teeth-gritting underdogs confronting a force of greater might and emerging with pride intact. Locals applauded affectionately as Gavin Hamilton reached a hard-fought 50, and when he was out Andrew Flintoff re-enacted his famous 2005 gesture to Brett Lee by wrapping an arm around the departing combatant. Due respect given and noted.

Meanwhile, the Barmy male contingent were singing "Lady in Red" as a girl in a scarlet dress offered drinks in nearby hospitality. When Jimmy Anderson bowled his third wide somebody shouted: "You're top scorer, Jimmy." But otherwise the content of the dirge was hard to divine. Jean-Paul Rhodes, an Edinburgh nurse, told us from the relevant side of the ground: "I don't think even they know what they're singing. I could've sworn they were saying something about Graham Poll."

In the scorers' hut, you began to worry about repetitive strain injuries as the pencil brigade stood up to bang on the window every seven or eight seconds to tell some wandering blazer to stop impeding their view.

Giles Clarke, chief executive of the ECB, lingered in the wrong place at the wrong time and copped an earful, but when Dickie Bird hobbled passed at no great rate, there was no such rebuke. Respect was the order of the day, you see, and when the death of the match was pronounced at twenty to six, there was no cater-wailing in the stands. This was hardly a groundbreaking climactic development, was it?

Within minutes Pietersen was being interviewed outside and the rain, to his alarm, intensified dramatically. A massive golf umbrella was instantly produced, emphasising the gap between the haves and have-nots of British cricket.