As editor of a magazine which prides itself on telling the young women of Britain what's fashionable, there's really no excuse for loving a sport which sees grown men champion the matching cummerbund and bow tie look.
But there's something strangely comforting about snooker: the softly spoken commentators and the way the winner almost always drags his young child into the winner's photo. Not least the comedy montage at the end where balls fly off the table, old men fall asleep in their seats at the Sheffield Crucible and John Virgo performs a complex sequence of trick shots.
I have to confess that the only other sport I ever watch is tennis when Wimbledon is on. But perhaps it's because the World Championship falls on May Bank Holiday that it has a special "sit around your TV and stay up late if it goes to a frame-biter" feel to it. A bit like Eurovision except that someone British always wins.
There's very little glamour in snooker, unless you count Ronnie O'Sullivan, who has an unquestionable sex appeal.
Unlike most other sports, with snooker you can change your allegiance as you go along - so you're guaranteed to like someone best in the final. For me it's always the one who isn't Peter Ebdon.
I defy anyone not to remember with a certain fondness the moment Dennis Taylor beat Steve Davis in the final to beat all finals back in 1985 - despite his dodgy upside-down glasses. Well, I did say there was nothing stylish about snooker.
Victoria White is the editor of 'Company'Reuse content