Alan Lawson says he has never been one of life's natural blazer wearers, so it should be a moment of celebration, or at the very least relief, when he consigns his to the back of the wardrobe for the last time.

Yet as he enters the last week of his term as Scottish Rugby Union president, there is more than a hint of regret in his voice as he reflects on the fact his period at the helm is almost over.

Lawson has been the third member of a triumvirate of Scotland stars of the 1970s to occupy the president's office at Murrayfield, following on the heels of Andy Irvine and Ian McLauchlan. Like his predecessors, he had a bolshie streak as a player – famously, he once turned down an invitation to sit on the Scotland bench as he was heartily sick of the thing already – but that has been kept well under wraps over a 12-month period that has been more about consolidation than shaking things up at Scottish Rugby's HQ.

"I think the demands of the past year have been different to what the others faced," he acknowledges. "There had been a lot of changes under Andy and Mouse [McLauchlan] so I think we needed a period of calm. But I've enjoyed it hugely, probably more than I expected. I knew what I was getting myself into as I had shadowed Mouse [as vice-president] over the previous year, but it has still been a great experience. I know it's a cliche, but it really is a privilege to get out and about around Scottish clubs and see what fantastic people there are out there, working away quietly just because they love the game."

Ah yes, the amorphous, rebel-lious, seething world of Clubland. Litltle seen and rarely heard, but enormously important to the running of SRU affairs on that one gloriously inconvenient day when representatives from all over Scotland pour into Murrayfield for the governing body's annual general meeting and hold the governing body to account.

Actually, they won't be pouring into Murrayfield this year. Next Saturday, the scheduled day of the AGM, the stadium's cavernous President's Suite has been booked for an Indian wedding, so the rugby gathering will take place at Heriot-Watt University instead.

It is not quite clear whether this scheduling is a cock-up, an oversight or a brilliant piece of work by the commercial department, but you can't help but think they have missed a trick by not combining the two events, thereby denying Lawson the opportunity to enter the gathering on a white horse whilst delegates from RBS Caledonia Regional League Division 3 North scatter rose petals in his path.

A month after his 65th birthday, chairing the meeting will be the last act of Lawson's presidency. Both Irvine and McLauchlan served more than one term, but the constitution has been altered to limit post-holders to 12 months. There are sound reasons of principle for the change, but in practical terms it means a president has no sooner got the hang of the job than he is turfed out.

"There could be an issue there," Lawson acknowledged. "You have a busy year, you make a lot of contacts and then you're out. But a lot of the groundwork for your time as president is done when you are vice-president, so you don't come into the job cold. I'm perfectly happy to stand down and let someone else do the job."

Lawson's successor will be Dr Donald MacLeod, the former surgeon who was the Scotland team doctor from 1967 to 1995 and the Lions doctor on the 1983 tour to New Zealand. As he takes the reins of office, will MacLeod find himself at the head of an organisation that is thrusting boldly towards a brave new future or one that is just bumbling along as it always has?

Somewhere between the two would be the opinion of most well-informed observers. The SRU have managed to get through the year without any of the palace coups or management meltdowns that have punctuated its existence in recent times, its financial position is improving slowly, and the national side have just had their best Six Nations finish since 2006.

Against that, there are deep-seated and seemingly intractable problems in a game that, anecdotally at least, is struggling to find players. And, for all that a small army of development officers has been crawling over Scotland for the past two decades, rugby is still viewed in too many quarters as the pastime of the privately educated elite.

Lawson concedes the point. "It's a slow process," he said. "But what I find satisfying is that really good work is being done to change things.

"We've introduced the rugby schools concept, which gives some kids from pretty rough backgrounds a great grounding in the game and the discipline of teamwork, and there are youth festivals of rugby going on all over the country. In the past few months I've been to places like Perth and Dalziel and seen hundreds of kids playing rugby and enjoying it.

"There's no doubt that private schools have a lot of advantages. That's not unique to rugby, though; you just have to look at the backgrounds of Britain's Olympic medallists last year. It's a lot easier to make sport happen in private schools. I don't like to get political, but Thatcher left a legacy of distrust amongst state school teachers in the 1980s and we still have to recover that ground."

The performances of Glasgow Warriors over the past season have probably done more to spread the sport's gospel than many other initiatives down the years. "That has been great to see," added Lawson. "Gregor Townsend has done a fantastic job there. Edinburgh got off to a bad start and just seemed to get stuck in a rut, but hopefully they will get themselves sorted out and become competitive again."

Beyond getting his name in gold leaf on an oak board at Murrayfield, there are few privileges for a past president of the Union. Lawson's main focus in rugby will return to the Bill McLaren Foundation – the late commentator was his father-in-law – which raises money for rugby-related good causes. In which role, presumably, no blazer will be required.