Whoever said winning was easy? It was never true, and today was a tale of graft and grind, wind and weather, toil and not a little trouble. Where did the trouble begin? At the scrum. At the lineout. At the rolling maul. And I do not exempt the whistling Mr Wigglesworth, whose whimsical judgments did little to elevate the entertainment.

To begin at the beginning: driving up the motorway, over the Swift, over the Soar, lashing rain past Leicester and into Nottingham. Parking, at least, was easy, next to the ground. The next thing of note - on a day that offered little to cheer - was the appearance of a troupe of scantily-clad, goose-bumped, glitter-waving teenage girls: cheerleaders, no less! And here is the truth, stranger than fiction... they launched into a series of lineout drills, spear tackles and other exercises that demonstrated exactly how to throw and lift - skills that were sadly absent from Saints' performance today.

The Nottingham announcer was drowned out by a rousing "Oh Wendy" at the start, Saints won the ball and were awarded a scrum. And were robbed of the ball. This set the pattern for the afternoon. Two of the first three scrums were turned and Saints lost the first four lineouts on their own throw. Dylan Hartley - understandably eager at the first ruck - was admonished by Mr Wigglesworth, and retreated meekly for the only time during the game. Paul Tupai was soon into his stride but, taking a forearm in the face, stumbled into a Nottingham player and was duly, but unjustly penalized. Easy penalty: Nottingham 3, Saints 0. Only nine minutes on the clock, nine minutes of frenzy, brutal impacts and no quarter given.

There were 16 minutes gone before Saints won their first lineout and drove forward via a hesitantly rolling maul, only to see Sir award a free-kick to the opposition for a "minor technical offence". I cannot tell you more because, although Sir was very deliberate with his hand gestures, the sign language was one with which I am not familiar.

Northampton began to take charge, to some extent, largely due to fine kicking by Smyler and Carlos, wonderful handling in atrocious conditions, and spirited rucking by the pack, who were denied the ball by more conventional means. In those conditions - which favoured neither side - one would have found it easier to tickle a troublesome trout in a raging torrent.

The second quarter sparked into life when Chris "Flash" Ashton was taken off the ball in a race he was clearly winning. Mr W's decision defies any logical process I can conjure up. An ASBO, perhaps? Four minutes later, another cross-kick, Flash races for the ball, which bobbles wickedly behind him. "It's BEHIND YOU," we shouted helpfully, if a little theatrically, but to no avail.

Then, at last, a Saints score: after a trademark break at blistering pace by Carlos, a penalty was awarded for coming in at the side (that's a guess) and Smyler put three points on the board with 25 minutes gone. 3-3.

Three minutes later, a steepling kick by Smyler into the Nottingham 22, Kydd defied Newtonian gravity to win the ball and Smyler raced through to gather and touch down, just left of the posts. Even so, the conversion into the wind and driving rain was not a formality, but the sweetly struck ball sailed through and Saints began to look a bit classier with the scoreboard showing 10-3 in their favour.

For a while, the only thing of moment was that Toops didn't get his first talking-to until 30 minutes had elapsed. Northampton began to exert more pressure but stout defence kept them from scoring until, mirabile dictu, a DROP GOAL - the first of the season (unless I am mistaken, Eds? - No, You're absolutely correct! - Ed.). Smyler's sweet boot put Saints into a not quite commanding lead of 13-3. All points coming from young Stephen's elegant hoof.

Half time was enlivened by more lineout drills and smart moves by the cheerleaders and we settled down for the feast of tries that the second half would surely bring: wind behind, ND1 pack getting tired, Jim's half-time talk, and so on.

No such thing. Fumbles and foozles may be permissible in adverse conditions, but lost lineouts and reversed scrums are not. After 55 minutes, the Front Row was spiced up by Tiny and the Bear and, in less time than it takes to say Soane Tonga'uiha, a massive shove by the scrum forced a highly kickable penalty, wind behind, just outside the left post. Missed by Smyler - but why kick anyway with the Saints scrum beginning to function?

Another shock registered moments later when the same golden and gifted one, isolated in front of his 22, dropped a high garryowen. This time Saints were resolute (especially Carlos, perhaps unexpectedly in these conditions) and pushed back upfield. But, for every magnificent steepler from Carlos and Smyler, a kick to touch, followed by clever disruption at the lineout, gave Nottingham more possession when all the norms of ND1 suggested they should be tiring.

With 20 minutes left, Nottingham won a lineout 15 metres out from the Saints line, went briskly through the phases and drove the ball over the line with commendable efficiency. Try converted by Dodge and suddenly Saints are under Premiership-style pressure for the first time at 13-10. Undaunted, and with real 15-man rugby, Saints forced themselves back into the opposition half and won another penalty on 64 minutes, this one a tad more difficult than the one Smyler missed 10 minutes earlier. The Gifted One is not fainthearted, as he showed with a firm strike, oblivious to the hooting and hollering from the few Nottinghammers, to put Northampton into a 16-10 lead, which remained the score until the last whistle, when a weary Carlos kicked thankfully into touch after very little injury time.

My hands are still numb as I type these last words (eat your heart out, Captain Oates), and my mind is numbed by the awesome efficiency of the Nottingham lineout (or the thundering incompetence of Saints'?). I have not wasted space recounting all the little skirmishes and niggles, argy-bargy and handbags, which featured Foxy, Dylan and Toops, and a thoroughly shameless hussy (no. 4, by the name of Nic Rouse) from Nottingham. Suffice to say, we were robbed too often and won, if not with charm, with Saintly steel and determination.

Stephen Smyler scored all Saints points - plus the first DROP GOAL of the season, so is my man of the match, closely followed by King Carlos for his exquisite kicking and rugged defence - not a one-trick pony, by any means.

Footnote:

To me, Nottingham will always drag old heroes from the very back pocket of my memory: Dusty Hare, who had one of the biggest boots I ever saw, when I watched him play against Wasps in the 1970s at some dusty old field in North London. When I think of Hare I can only compare his mighty hoof with Beal's boomers for Saints, but Hare was a far more clinical kicker. Later, I recall Nottingham's Chris Oti, England's first Black player (since 1908) appearing in 1988. "Swing Low Sweet Chariot..." was first sung at Twickenham to celebrate Oti's (far from otiose) hat-trick against Ireland in what was then the 5 Nations Championship.