Anyone whose life involves writing more than the odd shopping list will know the feeling. For a split-second (perhaps it is a trick of the mind) all your thoughts summate into one concise, witty, perfect sentence. And then – in absence of pen or dictaphone – it is gone as quickly as it came. So it was that my exact stance on Twitter came to rest somewhere on the southbound stretch of the A21 between Sevenoaks and Tonbridge – a hellish place to die.

I’m definitely not going to describe it as the internet’s marmite. Likening something to marmite is not only the surest indication of a creatively bankrupt mind, but a total kop-out. I suppose I’m indifferent – I don’t begrudge Twitterers their fun, I just want to go to a place where Twitter does not impact on me in the slightest. Perhaps here (about a minute in). Where I don’t find myself devoting time to deciding whether I care if someone somewhere thinks that Stephen Fry’s tweets are at times boring, or wondering how annoying it would be to be in a relationship with someone who spent most of their free time involved in spurious Tweetversations with people they have never met about ice-cream flavour Chewits. Twitter, after all, is little more than a glorified chat room.

Sadly, being a new-media journalist of sorts (web-editor), there is no escape. Whether it is devising social-networking strategy, covering a tweet-off between two England cricketers (the biggest farce since some mug decreed Fearne Cretin an unofficial national treasure), or reading about Charlie Brooker’s fridge, Twitter is omnipresent in my life.

This is a good hook actually. Cricket (my current industry) isn’t cool – never has been, and never will be, certainly not outside Ashes years. Watching it try and haul itself into the public consciousness via Twitter has been at times funny, and at times extremely painful – Jonathan Agnew’s undignified spat with Observer hack Will Buckley over Agnew’s allegedly lecherous behaviour when interviewing Lily Allen was just embarrassing.  Yet while he may be precious Agnew is a champion of the middle-classes, and the way they jumped to his defence on Twitter and in the blogosphere to force an apology from Buckley is an early example of the trending that Jon Henley discusses in his excellent, albeit slightly scary article in the Observer. I love the term ‘Offencerati’.

And for all it’s appalling execution – that tweet-off illustrated first-hand to me, as Henley explains, that Twitter is no longer just a place for the trendsetters and self-publicists to swap inanities, but now a crucial marketing tool, which in turn leads me to hope that it’s popularity has already reached a peak. Watching Vodafone’s witless PRs scamper around Covent Garden was like parents hanging out in their children’s den. The kids will soon want somewhere else to play.

And a little taste of what they’re listening to in cricket this week.

The Pains of Being Pure at Heart – Young Adult Friction, Radical Face – Wrapped in Piano Strings, Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybees – Sugarfoot, The Clientele – Bookshop Casanova, The Heavy – Set Me Free, Dr Dog – Heart It Races, Slow Club – Christmas TV , Miami Horror – Sometimes, Flamboyant Bella – Second Minute Hour, Dark Mean – Lullaby, Datarock – Fa Fa Fa

Sam Collins is website editor of thewisdencricketer.com