Greenwood proves class act in Quins roadshow

London Irish 6 Harlequins 16

Coaches love to talk about "winning ugly", and this Harlequins victory – their first on the road for almost exactly two years and their third in 37 attempts – had some of the worst looks in Christendom: a blood-curdling mix of Alan Partridge and Peggy Mount. Do they care? Do they hell. By chiselling out a result on enemy territory in front of the best part of 19,000 spectators, the second-biggest gate in Premiership history, they finally rid themselves of their away-day fragility and put some glorious distance between themselves and the dead-beats at the foot of the table.

Neither camp attempted to put a gloss on the dross: a strangely compelling, neurotic brand of dross, but dross all the same. Conor O'Shea, the Exiles' managing director, readily admitted that the crowd had paid good money to watch "two poor teams", while Mark Evans was even more blunt. An hour or so after no-side, he fielded an urgent phone call from one of the Harlequins big-wigs, down in South Africa on business. "Terrible game, great result," reported the chief executive- cum-coach. As a précis of the afternoon's proceedings, his description was bang on the money.

While Evans is nowhere near as follicularly challenged as the Quins outside-half Paul Burke, who now goes by the name of "Burke and No-Hair", he was in obvious danger of premature baldness in the opening 20 minutes as he tore at his locks on the touchline. The visitors started the game on the hopeless side of inept: Nathan Williams, their full-back, fumbled the first three pieces of possession that came his way; Tani Fuga, their hooker, messed up four consecutive line-outs with throws that called both his coordination and his eyesight into question.

Yet Quins conceded only a single penalty to Barry Everitt, who would fall to pieces later in the match, and reached the end of the first quarter with their line – and, more crucially, their spirit – intact. Reasons? There were two. The Quins front row, with Ceri Jones and Jon Dawson to the fore, scrummaged their opposite numbers off the park, while the tackling of Andre Vos, Roy Winters and the ultra-physical Ace Tiatia was never less than ferocious. If London Irish ever see Tiatia again, it will be far too soon. It was not for want of trying that the Samoan failed to crack a few opposition ribs. He certainly cracked their confidence.

"Our game falls apart when we don't defend well," said Evans, "Although we didn't get our game going early on, we were at least putting in the tackles, and that is always a measure of a team's attitude and commitment. When I saw that, I had a better feeling about things than I might have had.

"It was always going to be a difficult occasion, what with the crowd and the St Patrick's festivities and the importance of the fixture to both sides. There were mistakes and plenty of them – even our try came from a set play that went completely wrong – but who will remember the overthrown line-outs and the flurry of knock-ons if we're still in the Premiership next season?"

That try fell to Will Greenwood, the classiest back on the pitch by a distance of several miles, after 27 minutes of knee-clenching paranoia masquerading as a piece of sporting entertainment. Fuga had charged down Everitt's clearance deep in the Irish in-goal area to earn Quins a useful attacking platform, and Tiatia launched a muscular drive for the line from the set-piece. Even though the pre-arranged move had to be abandoned – "I won't bore you with the details, but it was all to pot," said Evans grinning – the England centre took it upon himself to construct a silk purse from a sow's ear by spinning out of feeble tackles from Justin Bishop and the hapless Everitt and scoring to the right of the posts.

There would be no more of the same: neither side would have achieved anything as grand as a try after the interval had the second half lasted a month of Sundays. But Quins remained in control, even though Dawson, who had made a serious mess of Neal Hatley in the tight, made rather less of a mess of Mike Worsley, the latest prop to earn an England cap in the Six Nations.

Williams, fully recovered from his early outbreak of Teflonititis, took over the kicking duties from the injured Burke to slot a brace of penalties that give his side a 10-point lead, and after Mark Mapletoft had put Irish in bonus-point territory with a successful kick of his own in the final minute of ordinary time, Williams struck again with the last act of the game to deny his hosts even that much.

London Irish: Penalties Everitt, Mapletoft. Harlequins: Try Greenwood; Conversion Burke; Penalties Williams 3.

London Irish: M Mapletoft; P Sackey, N Burrows, B Venter, J Bishop; B Everitt (M Horak, 60), H Martens; N Hatley (M Worsley, 45), A Flavin, S Halford, R Casey, N Kennedy, P Gustard (capt; K Dawson, 50), D Danaher, C Sheasby.

Harlequins: N Williams; D Luger, W Greenwood, M Deane, B Gollings; P Burke (V Satala, 62), W Fulton; C Jones, T Fuga, J Dawson, W Davison, S Miall, A Tiatia, A Vos (capt), R Winters (A Diprose, 54).

Referee: S Leyshon (Somerset).