The time for talking was over. All those drink-fuelled pub-bound brags, boasts and promises about setting up a cricket team were a distant memory. It was the first nets of the season – ever – for the Sultans.

When we founded the team we wanted to be able to play in some of the greener, pleasanter corners of this green and pleasant land.

We got Walthamstow.

But walking through the hyper-reality that is Dulwich Village en route for Dulwich College in the falling dusk gave us some taste of Ye Olde England. We even saw a heron.

Those in attendance were Wizzer, Boss, The Boy, Dicko, first-timer Tommy, me and the first of many ringers – a wizened old cricketer from work.

Two lanes + seven men = lots of bowling.

First in bat were Dicko and The Boy. Amazingly, they hit the ball more often than they missed it.

Then came myself and Tommy. Less said about my efforts with the willow the better, but Tommy deserves some special praise.

This is a man who had previously never held a cricket bat but is a demon on the hurling field.

You could tell. His shots had more leg than Ana Hickman which could prove handy at the top of the order. Or the middle. Or the bottom.

Boss showed some fine shape and was hooping it in. He even tried to bowl some Wazim-style reverse swing that resulted in some peachy out-swingers. Keep ’em guessing, Boss.

Wizzer’s efforts with the ball were as derisory as ever. He claims to be concentrating on G and F to winkle people out – which may be shorthand for guff.

But as the accompanying video (will be ready by Friday – multimedia ed!) hopefully shows, there were some promising signs. We’re not going to be called up any time soon (unless it’s to fight in the trenches in a cricket war where we all wear whites and try and make it through no-man’s land with a box edging out your pants) but it wasn’t a disaster. No one fell over.

Plus there was a bit of learning going on.

After 18 years I found out how to properly hold a cricket ball when bowling.

Tommy took his first steps in the art of bowling – I swear he had a couple of edges off that wall – and leaps in batting.

And in the pub afterwards Jonny enlightened us as to what a young lady means if she asks if you want a Bombay Roll.

Hate to think what a Scotch Egg baked in a Dutch Oven would constitute.

TTFN, Doghouse