A new name was added to the list of Scots humbled in front of Twickenham’s cavernous stands last week as the nation’s rugby media was thrown to the lions that are the England Sevens squad. Mine.

If my compatriots’ three decades of failure was not enough to warn me the whole escapade was a bad idea, my expanding girth, diminishing co-ordination and complete loss of anything resembling pace should have been.

Yet, like the wide-eyed fly drawn inexorably to his demise by a florescent light I was hypnotised by the opportunity to tread the same turf as the one painted Dark Blue by Jim Aitken’s bravehearts in 1983.

“Come and join in a training session with Ben Ryan and his boys,” the RFU said. “I can still do that,” thought I. “What better way to spend a gentle spring morning than floating around Twickers playing a bit of Sevens?”

On reflection, having been sent homeward tae think again, I can now come up with at least 600 more advisable options. Unless, of course, being chuckled at by the greased whippet that is Dan Norton – at half pace – is your idea of fun.

That incident, was just one of many humbling moments in which I was compelled to reassess my opinion on the credibility of becoming a Sevens specialist.

Having spoken to former Moseley back row James Rodwell on several occasions I always had some idea of the physical targets Ryan demanded his players hit.

In his early days with the national side Rodwell had been incredulous at the levels of aerobic fitness he would have to attain if his appearances on the IRB circuit were to be anything other than fleeting.

The fact he was there on Friday, an integral part of Ryan squad, means he has not only achieved those goals but exceeded them and little more than two minutes into the scratch game it was clear to see why they were considered necessary. The speed and accuracy with which players like Ben Gollings and Dan Caprice moved the ball was breath-taking but it was the physical side of the session that literally took my breath.

Simple realignment from a flat defence into an attack line with depth, was a constant process that required running forwards and backwards seemingly without end. I was doubled over before I’d even touched the ball.

My first opportunity came soon enough and of all the opponents I didn’t want to face, Chris Cracknell came rumbling down my channel.

The ex-Worcester flanker had been lauded by Ryan during the preamble as the squad’s steamroller and identified by Bees wing Simon Hunt as the one most likely to ‘ring my bell’.

Allied to those warnings was the fact the last time I had asked Cracknell for an interview had been about 15 minutes after he had pulled a Warriors fan from the crowd at Headingley. He declined my request.

Perhaps it was a preoccupation to leave track marks the length of my body or my guardian angel but mercifully he knocked on before he reached me.

If I had escaped that encounter with some shred of dignity the same could not be said of my meeting with Norton, a young man who could sidestep his way out of a congested post-box.

Nevertheless, there were only seven metres between me and the sideline and I remained confident of closing down the space and forcing him to check inside.

Exactly when the 23-year-old stepped on the gas is not abundantly clear but what I do remember is the fact his breathing pattern was broken only by his unsuppressed guffaws.

My efforts ‘on offence’ did not meet with much more success. The one time I threatened to take the ball at pace and cut a decent angle towards the sticks I forgot the over-ride call.

Had I called, ‘Bingo’ Rodwell would no doubt have found me with a beautifully weighted pass that I’d have taken under the posts just like one of the Lamont boys. Instead he used me as the definitive dummy run and slung a 20m howitzer to the wing which turned out to be a scoring pass.

And the one time I managed to ‘open my legs’, after Harlequins’ Ollie Lindsay-Hague invited me into the line, ex Saints academy forward Tom Powell materialised from nowhere to ensure the hole I was chugging towards, no longer existed.

My big moment had come and gone and I’d barely been able to blink. Like so many from north of the border I was left to rue a series of wasted years and missed opportunities.

Yet on reflection, now I come to think of it being chuckled at by Norton at half pace is my idea of fun. If only for him.

* You can watch the England Sevens team in action and join the beach party on May 21 and 22 at Twickenham Stadium in the Emirates Airline London Sevens. Tickets are available from £15 via www.rfu.com/londonsevens