I love everything about supporting QPR — except watching them play

I find it hard to pinpoint the exact moment when my support for Queen’s Park Rangers crossed over into full-blown fandom. I’ve lived in Shepherd’s Bush since 1991, and at one stage owned a house that overlooked their stadium. When dinner guests asked me whether I was bothered by the noise, I used to joke that it only got really loud when QPR scored — so, no, it was like living next door to the British Library.

I didn’t go to my first match until after my daughter Sasha was born in 2003 and back then Caroline was convinced I’d only developed an interest in the local club to escape her and the baby. Probably some truth in that, but as a strategy for avoiding childcare it backfired. All four of my children are now season ticket holders and Caroline has done a complete volte face. She’s now urging me to start supporting Brentford as well in the hope that their home games will alternate with QPR’s. That way, she’ll be able to play tennis every Saturday afternoon.

Given that Brentford have just been promoted from League One to the Championship, I’m considering it. I get an enormous amount of pleasure from watching QPR. Actually, that’s not quite true. I love the feeling you have eating lunch beforehand, knowing there’s a game to go to. I love walking to the ground with my children, the crowd of supporters getting thicker with every step. I love that moment when you walk through the little doorway at the top of the stadium and see the pitch for the first time. But watching the team play? Not so much.

As a general rule, the more avid a supporter I’ve become, the more pain and suffering the Super Hoops have caused me.