You know that feeling when everything just clicks? Your run-up is smooth, your action precise and the ball fizzes on to the spot every delivery - and every other other over or so your team-mates converge on you with smiling faces to celebrate sending another rabbit back to the hutch? . . . Neither do I.

And after my first outing of 2007 for the Headliners, I'm still waiting.

I have to say I felt confident taking the ball when Dogger asked me to freshen up the attack after the industrious RB, the doughty RN and peckish Beefdom could find no chinks in the West Blatchington armour. Three nets and a high-protein shake or two in pre-season had me in fine fettle.

But after four overs of unadulterated leg-side jank I asked to be withdrawn from the attack having conceded 27 runs from an embarrassing series of double hops. "If you're sure," said Skip - a gesture really, as I could already see Stanley warming up at fine leg.

Of course the real villain was RN. Leaving the pavilion, the West Blatch openers' introduction to the pitch was hearing the mouthy Yorkshireman telling RB: "Don't take too many early wickets, let's make a game of it!"

Donner A, Mackenzie T and Proton K decided they'd make a game of it all right and twatted 145 runs between them!

Brown S tried desperately to return to his beer, skying three huge efforts off successive deliveries to RB on the boundary. The first actually carried for six, the second was dropped but the third was superbly, um, dropped too!

The unlucky bowler was RN. The rest of us offered commiserations and encouraging noises to both men, while we all tried to imagine what RN would look like with Bryant's nadgers threaded on to his necklace.

Then the plucky Stanley had the dangermen despatched with great flighted deliveries tempting the batsmen to waft ineffectually and allow decent fielders in Beef and Panch Jr to catch and stump.

Beef then enjoyed a sensational over, taking three wickets - including a tremendous caught and bowled in which he actually spilled his own blood to secure. Well it looked like blood, but someone later heard the groundsman mutter about the peculiarity of someone leaving a pool of gravy on a length.

Set 198, Liners did not shine. The Don hit 26, Beef knocked a patient 36, Dogger fell to the most plum obvious 'lbw' ever seen in the history of the game and Fitzy's £200 prescription Oakleys meant he had a clear view of the walk back to the pavilion, if not the ball that sent him there.

The highlight was your humble scribe's ferocious 11, reaching 1,000 career - thus ending the longest running saga since The Mousetrap.

I felt sorry for West Blatch's Brown N. Seven wickets for 18 off 10 would normally be an achievement worth celebrating - but it ain't a 1,000 runs matey! It ain't a THOUSAND RUNS!