There was what you might call an atmosphere in the press-conference room at Twickenham on Saturday. Nothing you could put your finger on. Just a subtle but certain feeling that all was not well between the press and Martin Johnson, manager of the England rugby team.

This was because we of the press had been picking up on the vibes in the stadium. There was a palpable and growing dissatisfaction among the England supporters. A casting aside of patience. As the dreadful second half wound its slow length along, there were the beginnings of exasperation.

It has become the sporting emotion that dare not speak its name. How can anyone say bad things about Johnson? The man is a living national treasure, he captained England to the World Cup, he was a player of genuine greatness and is a man rightly accustomed to affection, admiration and awe.

He has been in charge of England for 12 months. In that time, he has been treated with gentleness as well as affection. Everyone wants him to be a great success. It would be so wonderfully suitable. But alas, success of any kind has been elusive. Johnson went into the job with no experience of coaching or management, and while everyone noted the risk, it was generally agreed that we all liked the cut of his jib, and perhaps it was worth the experiment. But, 12 months on with England firmly established as the sort of middle-raters who never look like beating a team ranked above them, the tensions are showing.

Johnson is showing them himself. He took a post-match line straight from the books of Sir Alex Ferguson: talk abject nonsense with total sincerity and defy people to contradict you. You know it’s nonsense and I know it’s nonsense, but no one will dare answer back.

So Johnson spun us a line: “The team was playing its first game while Australia are battle-hardened after the Tri-Nations and they were slicker than us.” True, but you might just as well say that England were fresh and the Australians battle-weary.

Ferguson gets away with guff like that because he has such a long history of success behind him. When Johnson tried it yesterday, there was a lot of shuffling of feet and looking at notebooks. No one bought it. No one — certainly not me — is quite ready to say: “Excuse me, Mr Johnson, but that’s crap, and you know it.” On the other hand, nobody needed to.

That Johnson should be reduced to feeding us this line shows a changed attitude. A year ago, he was uncompromisingly honest, but the more disappointing the results his team delivered, the less appealing this policy has become.

The contract of mutual respect is wearing thin. There was a subtle contempt in Johnson’s post-match excuses, and with them, a growing feeling that he is running out of time. He has two more matches this autumn: one against Argentina on Saturday that he dare not lose, and the week after, a match against New Zealand in which, at the very least, he needs to produce a coherent team with a fully baked game plan.

If these things don’t happen, the sporting nation will run out of patience. I would not want to add to the pressures — but tick-tock, tick-tock.

* On the subject of Saturday's match, may I introduce the guest photographer of the week? At the top of this column is a picture by Shelley Jenkins, girlfriend of Jonny Wilkinson. She took it from the posh seats at Twickenham. Knowing the identity of the photographer adds layers to the photograph: a private relationship, a public man, a performer who also belongs to thousands, who is also loved by millions.

With Australia beaten, winter tour defeat is more tolerable

I have always enjoyed curling a lip at the sporting ambitions of Scotland and Wales. What Englishman does not? The Wales rugby union team never really cut it on the world stage because deep down, all that matters to them is beating England. The Scotland football team lost their purpose years ago, because they no longer have regular games against England, and without England to beat, they see little point in international football.

But then I thought of the England cricket team, and the resignation — perhaps even the equanimity — with which the English would (will?) greet defeat by South Africa this winter. We’d prefer victory, but we would take defeat in our stride. It’s not as if it was Australia.

England beat Australia last summer, so everything in English cricket is rosy. That thought affects everything that takes place in the English cricketing mind. Beating Australia may not be everything, but it’s certainly enough. How can that mindset be changed? If you take the example of the Celts, you’d have to change history first.

Pietersen faces torrid period of soul-searching in South Africa

The England cricket team have landed in South Africa and it’s all about Kevin Pietersen. Normally, this is not a thought that would distress him. But now he is in something of a difficult situation. He has lost his job as main man.

“We can’t do it without you, KP.” That thought has been at the heart of the England team for four years. Pietersen was supposed to be the key to the Ashes series last summer. But he went under the knife after the second Test — and England won it without him.

They did so with things such as team-work, captainly performances from Andrew Strauss, a great day from Andrew Flintoff, match-turning performances from James Anderson and Stuart Broad and, perhaps worst of all for Pietersen, a century on debut from another South African émigré, Jonathan Trott.

Pietersen is a man greatly reduced by his brief stint as England captain, by his injury, by some memorable failures. He goes to South Africa not as a swaggering, rollicking champion, but a man badly in need of a performance.

Pietersen has always aspired to greatness rather than mere success. This return to South Africa, the hostility that will follow him and the problems he has with himself, with his game and with his place in the team, will make this the most searching episode of his career.