"Good morning Sir, welcome to the Masters."
"You're going to have to pinch me."
"Sorry, Sir?"
"I need you to pinch me so I know this is real."
I've made it. Heaven. At least, golfer's Heaven. Welcome to day one of my first ever Masters experience.
I'm nervous. That seems weird, even to me. But this has been at the top of the bucket list since I started watching the Masters in the mid 1990s. Not only top of the sporting bucket list, the top of the general life bucket list.
Even walking through the gates towards the brand new, palatial media centre, everything is perfect. The media hub is unlike anything I've ever seen in my life. From an incredible, state of the art media working "arena", to a buffet-style top-range restaurant, emitting aromas you can only dream of at seven o'clock in the morning.
Looking out the window from my desk "D34", I look straight down the practice range. Thankfully, it's far enough away that even the best of Dustin Johnson's bombs won't quite come through the front window, although he's not too far away in the time I watch him from the balcony.
After opening my laptop, looking like I was going to break into work, which I promise I will do eventually, I get straight back up, walk out of the aforementioned media centre and towards the merchandise store. The much-talked about zoo of the merchandise store. A 300 metre line. Just for clothing and accessories with a little yellow symbol on them. Lining up for 300 metres (no exaggeration) lets you in on some fascinating eavesdropping.
"Why are you here? You've got all the 2016 gear on, you don't need anymore," I hear someone ask an older gentleman.