Most readers of a certain age will know the name Erica Roe. For those who don’t, or are too young, in 1982 Erica became the first streaker at Twickenham. It happened during an England v Australia international, on my watch as England captain.

I would guess there are two things related to that match you won’t remember, and there’s certainly one thing you couldn’t possibly know. How sad that so many people can name Erica Roe and no-one can remember her friend, who took to the pitch topless at the same time. The friend was less well endowed than Erica, and slipped from memory even before the final whistle. Her name? Sarah Bennett. The second thing that has been long forgotten, lost in the mists of time, is that England won the match 15–11. And as for the third thing, that was something only the England team was party to at the time.

Rugby union rivalry between England and Australia started on 9 January 1909 at the Rectory Field, Blackheath (Australia won 9–3). Seventy-three years later, on 2 January 1982 at Twickenham, little had changed apart from a try being worth four points instead of three. The kit was remarkably similar; the temperature was close to freezing; and the game had a 2pm kick-off due to the lack of floodlights.

Half-time was still spent out on the pitch. We didn’t have the luxury of warming ourselves up in the changing room with a cup of tea. We stood there enjoying a slice of orange brought to the players by ‘Scowling Ken’. Ken was principally in charge of the dressing room (where he was reluctant to give you even a new pair of socks!) with the added responsibility of the half-time refreshment and had perfected the art of cutting a single orange into 15 segments.

Not only did we win the match, we were also leading at half-time, which was my moment to get the team together and calmly issue instructions for the second half. Luckily, half-time was no more than a two-minute interval, and even I could hold the attention of my team-mates for that length of time, or so I thought.

I was in full flow, emphasising all the things going well and identifying a couple of areas where we needed to tighten up a little. What perturbed me was that not one player was looking at me, they were all looking in my direction but seemed preoccupied with something going on over my shoulder.

In perfect English I demanded to know, "What the f*** is going on?" Even these stern words failed to gain me any recognition, with one exception, our scrum-half Steve Smith. Smithy still didn’t look me in the eye but at least he was engaging with me, unlike the rest of them. "Hey Skuttle [a nickname he had bestowed on me after watching Benny Hill one night and noticing I bore a resemblance to one of his characters – the one with the thick glasses, a strange left-handed salute and a big backside!], someone’s on the pitch taking the p*** out of you."

I refused to turn around, and said, ‘What the f*** are you talking about?’

"I’m not sure how to say this, Skuttle, but there’s some bloke on the pitch running around with your a*** on his chest," replied Smithy.

The entire team collapsed into fits of laughter as I turned to see Erica Roe running towards me being chased by several stewards in fluorescent yellow jackets.

End of team talk.

Lawrence Dallaglio's new book Rugby Tales is published in hardback by Headline priced £18.99.