It had seemed a day for being optimistic as we arrived at Twickenham. Glorious sunshine in England’s capital, daffodils breaking through in tribute to the events of the previous evening on a spring afternoon which bore the promise of better things to come.

The roses have been blooming more than ever before, too, but this time the thistles had looked a bit less weedy than has become customary around the stretch of land that was once Billy Williams’ cabbage patch but has been home to English rugby for more than a century during which Scottish hopes have almost invariably been paraquated.

Four wins in 48 visits. Say whatever you like, it speaks to a growing inferiority complex lying deep in the psyche of even those schooled in Scotland’s most self-satisfied establishments.

Initially it took 16 years from the stadium’s opening until victory was achieved by a team that had won a first ever Scottish ‘Grand Slam’ a year earlier, another 12 before it was repeated as ‘Wilson Shaw’s match’ earned a Triple Crown.

The intervention of World War II partly explained the 33 year wait before Peter Brown’s boys claimed what would be the first of two wins against England in a week as the centenary of the international game was marked, but no such excuse is available to those underdogs sent homeward to think again with tails between their legs every after receiving their whippings every two years since the last triumph. At least one member of that 1983 team has acknowledged that theirs is a record that has come to inspire more embarrassment than pride, not least because so rarely in the intervening years have their compatriots so much as put up a fight.

As if to symbolise the men against boys type of affair that locals have come to expect, Scotland’s anthem was led by the Capital Children’s Choir and while only those who arrive at this venue wearing boulders on both shoulders would interpret that as a calculated move, their cutesie rendition was never going to provide much in the way of inspiration. It takes a fair bit to make the dirge that is ‘God Save the Queen’ more rousing than The Corries’ call to a nation to find its identity in a modern context, but that was well and truly achieved.

It would be fanciful, too, to blame over compensation for what happened next, but instead of improving on the efforts of their forebears of the last three decades and more it was pretty much over even earlier for this team packed with players who had caused their hosts a fair few problems on the last visit here before succumbing to the inevitable.

Fraser Brown may have succeeded in momentarily knocked the stuffing out of Elliot Daly, but his inexcusably reckless challenge on the England winger threatened to do much more serious damage to his own team’s morale.

As the match officials watched the incident replayed on the big screen John Barclay, Scotland’s captain, walked nervously towards them anxious to plead his hooker’s case. For those who wished to see a contest as much as those with Caledonian connections, it was a source of considerable relief that relatively inexperienced French referee Mathieu Raynal opted for the lesser sanction of a sin-binning.

Even so the outcome was pretty much done and dusted by the time he returned the task of ending England’s record winning sequence through 17 previous matches since Eddie Jones took charge of their team having been more than tough enough without giving them 10 points of a start.

Owen Farrell, a supposed injury doubt beforehand, would knock over his third successful kick at goal soon after Brown’s return to make it 13-0.

With injuries to Stuart Hogg and his replacement Mark Bennett complicating things further it was damage limitation once more as the match entered its second quarter, albeit, even as it began to cloud over on yet another false spring day for Scottish rugby nothing was going to spoil Jonathan Joseph’s Mary Poppins of a day out in London… practically perfect as it was, in every way.