Glimmers of light emerge from the Twickenham bleakness

It all continued last night, of course, but with the traditional Scottish spice of raising hopes just because they should ultimately be dashed. Vern Cotter's side lost again, remaining pointless but perhaps not without a sliver of redemption after a depressing defeat to Italy.

This match was viewed before- hand not so much as Pacquaio- Mayweather but Mike Tyson v Jimmy Krankie. The disparity in sides seemed great, the weight of history enough to buckle the brawest of knees. But it did not quite work out like that. Scotland were defeated, but not in the manner expected or by the margin predicted.

This may be the smallest of mercies but such is the horror of Twickenham's past 2015 might be looked upon as a punishment escaped; a moral loss, if not a moral victory.

It started badly, improved dramatically and then ended with a third act short on joy but long on predictability for scholars of the history of this fixture.

Scotland came on to the sort of welcome that suggested that they were not only the visitors but the main course. There was almost a relish in the way they were viewed as victims by the home crowd. Scotland, of course are only bottom of the RBS 6 Nations because there is not a minus one.

There was an anticipation that overshadowed even the formalities. Flower of Scotland was played at such a lick that one could be forgiven for believing it was the acid house version.

The military band was perhaps on orders to be quick about it, an injunction that seemed to apply to England. There was good reason for this unseemly haste. Scotland arrived at Twickenham with the sort of losing record that makes Nick Leeson's profligacy at Barings Bank seem like a slightly unlucky run.

Scotland have won only four times at Twickenham, the last success being 32 years ago. This awful, dispiriting run seemed certain to continue after just four minutes. It was not just that England had scored their first try by then through Jonathan Joseph. It was that they could have been two tries ahead by then and sailing to the sort of score that speaks of humiliation rather than just defeat.

England were obviously playing under express orders not to pass to a team-mate, particularly when he was clear on the overlap, and this and the odd forward pass restricted their first-half try count to a solitary one.

This fecklessness encouraged Scotland and something strange happened. The Scots not only began to play like a vibrant, confident team but scored a fine try through Mark Bennett and might, just might, have had a second.

This correspondent, reeling from the acid house anthem, suspected that some sort of mind-altering drug had been placed in his afternoon tea. What else could explain a scoreboard that had Scotland 13-10 ahead at half time?

Painful sobriety was to follow the start of the second period. Ford's try and a lick of his boot took England clear. It threatened to become the sporting equivalent of Flodden but this was avoided, not least because Vern Cotter's boys stuck at it against the sort of accumulated odds that should have been daunting, even depressing.

There was a predictable gloom over Twickenham for those Scottish fans who return to this field of defeat with a weary regularity.

But there were glimmers among the bleakness. Bennett is a superb centre, Greig Laidlaw came back from criticism to play aggressively, Finn Russell was superb at 10, particularly when the ball was untidy and he was being harried by men in white. The forwards stuck to their task with Jonny Gray industrious, David Denton carrying with purpose and Blair Cowan mugging the opposing pack regularly in the second half.

It was not enough. Scotland lost 25-13. A defeat, not a rout. And that has to be enough, unfortunately.