We arrived at the ground at 2:30pm after collecting a Casper the Friendly Ghost comic (£1.30), Opal Fruits (30p) Wotsits (28p) and two cartons of juice (90p) from the news agents. We took up our seats in the lower Rous after taking advice that the view in the East stand family enclosure was not that good despite the attraction of the family crêche with the slides and toys for a potentially bored three year old.

2:38pm, Wotsits gone, Opal Fruits gone (including wrappers which she had not noticed whilst she was transfixed to the big teddy bear aka Harry the Hornet), one carton of juice down. The comic wasn't much use (I forgot she can't read), luckily the biro in my pocket meant she could draw all over it.

2:50pm Players troop off back to the dressing room...."Where's the big teddy gone, Dad?"

2:55pm Out come the boys. "Come on Watford," she shouts. Big proud grin on my face - can't wait until my 18 month old son starts singing "We hate Luton Town, we hate Luton Town, we hate Luton, we hate Luton, we hate Luton Town". Currently his vocabulary is restricted to "Mum", "Dad" and "that".

2:56pm Crisis...why isn't Harry on the pitch playing? What do I say? How disillusioned is she going to be? "Oh...he has got a poorly knee" - I think the bluff worked.

The next 37 minutes were a combination of one eye on the game and one eye on my daughter. She wasn't bored but it wasn't the football keeping her interest, it was Harry the Hornet over by the East stand. Warming up quite well on the touch line for a teddy bear with a duff leg.

Then Millwall scored, she was out of her seat like a jack in the box, jumping up and down punching her fist in the air screaming "GOAL" as I had taught her in the car on the way to the match. I couldn't stop her, she'd gone mad, little did she know who was playing in the black and white! The Watford thugs down in the front rows looked up to see who was cheering - funny thing was that her age matched their mental age! How did they get into the family enclosure - it wasn't for me to ask where their fathers were.

Half-time came, so too did a visit to the kiosk, another £1.25 on coke and another 45p on crisps. To date that's £1 for the ticket and another £3.58 on food, drinks and comics to entertain her. On that ratio my £12 ticket would buy me £42.96 of beer - I didn't need it though, the missed chances and second half pressure by Watford kept me entertained.

The full time whistle came, by now Ellen was crawling along the ground between the seats ready to go home. I asked if she had enjoyed herself - of course she had, maybe Watford would have won if Harry had come on as sub.

This was a day to remember, a far cry from my first game I can remember back in 1977 when I was threatened by a mad Southend fan with a knife wanting my scarf. The next match I take her to I shall come prepared - twenty two Mars bars, fourteen tubes of Smarties, eight cans of coke and a guaranteed Watford win. Roll on Valentines Day!