Once upon a time France headed to London with a certain amount of trepidation. For 18 years they could not buy a Six Nations win at Twickenham, to the point where people muttered about mental blocks and psychological hang-ups. Until a couple of years ago, that is, when Steve Borthwick’s England were torn apart 53-10 in the heaviest home defeat the old cabbage patch has ever known.
At a stroke all that historical baggage was gloriously jettisoned. Which is precisely what England would now love to replicate on a chilly February day in their retitled concrete citadel. There is no sweeter feeling in sport than unexpected success, particularly when a home victory is widely viewed as up there, in terms of probability, with Donald Trump’s vision for a “Gaza Riviera”.
