'Caerdydd' gears up for the biannual tie

"Look at what these bastards have done to Wales. They've taken our coal, our water, our steel. They buy our houses and live in them once a year. We have been exploited, raped, controlled and punished by the English. And we're playing them this afternoon boys."

Add to the list of Phil Bennetts woes from 1977 the theft of the Welsh rugby superiority enjoyed at that time by the English and their cash, and any outsider catches just a glimpse of the hysteria created every time England come to Cardiff.

The old grudge of Wales-England clashes being boiler-suited worker v caveated aristocrat occasions has only been reinforced during the games professional era. As Englands players spend the week surrounded by rambling luxury and team masseurs, so the Welsh have enjoyed a nice hotel with a tidy gym. A close examination of the average supporter reveals no different.

The English barbour brigade climbed upon trains and into Range Rovers all over England this morning, and converged on the principalitys capital city and its gleaming stadium like ants to a sugar-lump. Even at 9am the train from Bristol Temple Meads was standing room only. A few hardy souls were already tucking into the Stella Artois, presumably to wash down the bacon rolls. One English wax jacket met two chums on the station concourse, neither of whom was wearing a coat of any description.

"Didn't you bring a coat," he asked.

"Well there was no rain forecast," explained the other damply. "I didn't think it would be this cold either."

"Haven't been to Wales before have you," chuckled his friend.

Awaiting them in Cardiff Caerdydd, pronounced Caaeerr dith to the locals was a kind of anti-barbour. All the St. Marys street pubs brave enough to have already opened were beginning to burst at the seams with beefy side-burned men in red shirts, smoke from Embassy number ones and sentences in which the word English was preceded by something unprintable. The expressions on the faces of the courageous few wondering around in white shirts reminded me of a look I once witnessed at school, when a junior got caught up in the midst of a seniors game of British Bulldog.

A local television channel got into the act, broadcasting some 45 minutes of highlights of Welsh victories over England which was intended to fire up the support, but also had the interesting side-effect of reminding the Valley Boys how few and far between those victories have been recently. Another pub was playing Bread of Heaven over its tannoy, to the deafeningly melodious delight of its customers.

The streets are surprisingly quiet, although that probably has a great deal to do with the ugly spitting drops of rain falling from Cardiffs skies. In the pubs, the buzz is already gaining significant momentum, and the late kick-off ensures that fans have plenty of time to drink themselves up to the appropriate level of gaudy revelry.

No more pessimism here either, the belief in the abilities of the Welsh from their supporters is palpable, whereas the English fans have seemed as strained as their teams coach has been all week. The game could go either way. Wales will win the sing-off as always, but that won't matter if they are not leading at around quarter past seven this evening. It is then that the expectant public will know if the rugby year of 2005 is a success or not.

By Danny Stephens in Cardiff