I played in Alexandra Park (as in children’s play, not snooker) when I was nine. When I was a bit older I went roller skating there. Nobody came to watch, it was too embarrassing! But hundreds have come this week to watch the Masters snooker.

I always watch snooker on TV but this is the first time I have been to a tournament. Perhaps it’s the Ally Pally connection. And some libido, of course – there always is.

In which case I couldn’t have had a better start this afternoon: Mark Selby versus  Mark Davis. Selby won – I nearly said “of course”, but it was in fact a close thing. Davis fought back in the last couple of frames, to the last frame in fact. Selby did one of his typical humorous jousts with the audience, offering his cue to a heckler after he missed a shot. Much laughter, much clapping, and then he went on to win. So I was happy. No one as sharp, stylish, skilled and just all-round nice as he is should lose – especially as it would have sent this particular admirer miserable into the drizzly rain of North London.

Tomorrow afternoon it’s Judd Trump, playing what he calls “naughty snooker”, in his clever, dangerous and electrifyingly sexy way. More of him tomorrow. He will be playing the  quiet, calm, methodical, dignified Marco Fu from Hong Kong. Good luck to both of them. My money is on Judd, though.

Who do I want to see in the final? At the moment, Mark Selby and the great courageous character Ronnie O’Sullivan. Let’s see.

And the  fast and slow food?  Don’t ask. Nothing but hot dogs at lunchtime. And in the evening in the bar a 30-minute wait for food after you order. That meant, at 6.15, that it was too late to order if you wanted to eat and get into the evening session on time. The reason for all this: cutting staffing costs probably. Capitalism knows how to spoil our pleasures,  even as it provides them.