Fever Pitch v Bridget Jones Diary

Let me start this blog with an apology. I’m sorry it has taken me so long to write and upload this blog. It’s not because I didn’t love this fortnight’s fad, not at all. I’ve just been a very busy bee. In fact my last fad has changed me. I’m not just a Mumford, I’m not just a fadder, I’m a Gooner. Yeah, that’s right, I’m now a fully fledged Arsenal fan. Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration. When I was quizzed on who Arsenal’s strongest central midfielder is I just listed the names of players that I know; hoping one of them was a central midfielder. But when I was at the Emirates last week, I felt like a Gooner and I screamed profanities with the best of them.

So how and why did I go the Emirates? It’s all thanks to the lovely Kate Greenaway a hard core life time Gooner and friend of mine. Supporting Arsenal is more than just a fad for Kate, it’s a lifestyle choice. A football team is not just Christmas it’s for life. It will make you jump for joy, kick inanimate objects in anger and bleed your bank account dry. To be an Arsenal fan you have to pay £30 just to be a red member, then pay for each ticket on top of that. And those tickets are expensive. We paid £40 each for our tickets and that was for a low importance match at the back of the stadium. Most tickets costs between £50 – 75. “Why not just get a season ticket?” I hear you cry. Well, to get a season ticket for Arsenal you have to join a waiting list of nearly 30 years. Which is just ridiculous, my attention span barley lasts 30 minutes, I can’t promise that I would still be interested in something in 30 years time. (Which is slightly worrying for my marriage prospects). Then once you reach the top of this list you have to pay nearly £2,000 for your season ticket. OMG. My car didn’t even cost that. Kate tried to explain that the season ticket thing is different for other teams and the waiting list and expense is not as much for other teams. But I didn’t really understand what she was saying and then thought “who cares?” if I’m going to buy a season ticket it’s not going to be for any other team than Arsenal.

“Poppycock” I hear you saying. If I had been taken to a Tottenham game by a Spurs fan I’d be one of them. But Arsenal and I have history; their name is the only team name (apart from England of course) that I have shouted at the TV. When I was growing up my brother, sister and best friend all supported Arsenal. So I was always aware of the players names, finals they were in and cups they won. But I didn’t really care so couldn’t really call myself a fan, in the ladder of fandom I was very much on the bottom rung. Along with all the others that say, “If I had to pick a team it would be…” A few rungs up there’s the, “I enjoy watching the matches and check the results when I can’t watch them,” rung which is where I now sit. Then there’s the “I know their strengths and weaknesses and the best formations to play,” rung, which is where I hope to sit after I’ve watched more matches. Then the top, “I bleed when you bleed” fan, who takes their football team with them wherever they go in their hearts and their heads.

To be this level of football fan you have to make sacrifices, with your finances and your time. The finances have already been discussed, though I’ve not even touched on the travel expenses and merchandise costs. There are shirts, scarves, clocks, toasters, baby clothes and cuddly toys, basically anything that could be made red and white or have a Cannon stuck on it. Then with a premier league match every weekend and cup games during the week, that’s a lot of time. Obviously you might not be able to get to the match every time, but if you’re a real fan then you will find a TV somewhere. None of this matters though to the true football fan, because it’s your team, you’re family. Family may seem like a strange word to use when talking about a group of people that you’ve never met and changes on a yearly basis. But I know that’s how my football fan friends feel, they share the ups and downs together. Last month Arsenal player Aaron Ramsey had his leg broken in a nasty tackle and Kate cried for two hours. A strong reaction you may think, but he’s feels like a family member to her and his leg bone was poking out of his skin. These players are family to their fans which is why it’s devastating when they leave for more money and glory. (Yes Ashley Cole I’m taking to you – Kate told me what you did) Players that leave on good terms for valid reasons are still loved by the fans, their still part of the family. But a true fan can never give up or walk away, even when faced with constant disappointment. Fans are more forgiving of their team then they are their partners, you don’t divorce your team, you stick the hard times out.

It’s hard to be lonely at a football match, as you’re surrounded by thousands of people who all love what you love. That’s an incredible feeling. As I sat on the tube and noticed fellow passengers in red and white scarves I already started to feel like I was part of something. This feeling continued as I walked from Finsbury Park Tube to the Emirates with a sense of anticipation and excitement. My greatest joy coming from the fact I got to walk in the road. I love walking in the road. It’s only on really special occasions that one gets to walk in the road without risk of death. You know you’re in for something special when the Highway Code is thrown out of the window. Then there’s the magnificent Emirates Stadium, a gleaming architectural feat of beauty and purpose that pokes out between the roofs of terrace houses. My particular highlight being the giant letters spelling out Arsenal that sit outside the Stadium. I defy someone not to smile while sitting on a giant E. A bacon, cheeseburger with fried onions and a cup of tea was another treat.

The best bit of the day was of course the match itself. The butterflies, the jumping, the chanting, the swearing, the sighs, the screams, all the emotions that coursed through me as I watched Arsenal defeat Burney 3 – 1. I loved those last few minutes of the match when you’re waiting to exhale but can’t until that final whistle has been blown. Which is when I started to wonder if it’s your heart or head that makes you a fan. It may have been the first time I watched Arsenal play live and I might not know half the players names but at least I stayed till the end. Unlike the hundreds of fans who could recite their dream formation but would leave the stadium early before their team’s victory was secured. What if Burnley had secured a cheeky 2 goals in extra time and we had equalised, and you wouldn’t even know until you watched Match of the Day that night. It’s just ridiculous, as is asking football fans not to swear as there are children around – another thing I witnessed that day. I’m sorry but if you don’t want your children to hear swearing then don’t take them to a football match. Simples. There are other bonding activities you can do with your 8 year old child that would involve less profanity. Especially if said child spent the entire match wriggling in their chair, either complaining they’re hungry or reciting the alphabet. Basically doing anything but watching the match you spent over £40 for them to watch.

Granted the foul mouth blokes behind us were idiots and they were either swearing for the sake of it or singing about Harry Redknapp’s twitch. But surely it’s obvious that men who swear so much you feel the need to tell them to stop won’t stop because you asked them to. In fact isn’t it more likely that they’ll direct their swearing at you instead. Especially if you a mild mannered man in glasses that invites the line, “I can’t believe we’re being told to shut up by Harry Potter’s granddad.” Which is incidentally one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard in my life.

A place where I can cry with laughter, bite my nails in fear and jump with happiness is the kind of place I want to visit again. Also, the fact that I now talk about Arsenal in the ‘we’ person and have listened to Arsene Wenger’s post game interview on the internet suggest that this wont be the last time I visit the Emirates. Though I’m not sure I’m ready to be a red member just yet. I’m not sure I can make that kind of financial commitment for something which might ultimately turn out to be just a fad. Only last week after making a big fuss about going down the pub to watch Arsenal v Hull City, I had a nap instead.

I want to thank the lovely Kate Greenaway for sharing her passion with me, for lending me her Arsenal shirt (it’s in my hand wash pile – I’ll get it back to you soon I promise) and scarf. Thanks Greeno – I hope to be down that pub or Emirates stadium again with you soon

Next blog – golf with the guys

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How to woo a werewolf

I’ve been a bad girl. I've had a fortnight to write my blog but it's still not finished. Sorry. But I’ve been an extremely busy bee and just haven’t had the time.

I would have finished it tonight but I had Creative Writing homework to do for tomorrow. I had to write a poem. Which is why I’ve left it to the last minute, as I’m not really a poem kinda girl. I like my clothes pink and my meanings clear. But I thought I better give it a go.

I decided to use the Werewolf poem from the hammer horror classic ‘The Wolf Man’ as inspiration. The poem can also be heard in my favourite Florence and the Machine tune ‘Howl’.

“Even a man who is pure in heart
and says his prayers by night,
may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms
and the Autumn moon is bright.”

So I Mumfed it up and wrote the following poem. I hope it keeps you happy until the next blog on Thursday


Please become a fan of my fan page if you havent already

Many thanks and much love Mumf xxxx

How to woo a werewolf

Even a girl who is pure in heart,
and reads her Twilight by night.
May become loved when the wolf heart blooms
and forbidden passion is bright.

What a load of crap
Knowledge may be power,
but action is success.
To read is not to be.
One must plan
to get their man
slash creature of the night

Hang out in woods,
his stomping ground.
Find a curled up ball
of naked man.
This could be him,
Your wolfy love machine.
Or just a dirty perv.

How’s his steak –
bloody and raw?
His senses sharp,
his movements quick?
Never dates on a full moon?
Go ahead and swoon
Your hunt is done.

For a girl who knows her prey
and has a plan of what to do.
May feel protected when her heart is full
with the werewolf's woo.

Tiger Face, Lemon Face

This may come as a surprise to you, but I quite like attention. Crazy eh? Who would have thought that an ex performing art school student and stand up comedienne felt that way? That a girl who is constantly writing about herself and asking people to be her fans would like people to listen to her. So it’s not really a shocker that I love having my picture taken. But not in a vain way, I promise. If you have seen me in photos, you’ll know that I often resemble a drunken village idiot. Eyes glazed from gin, massive grin and double chins. It’s okay though as I don’t think photos are about trying to look good they’re about capturing a moment in time. But if I manage to hide the chins and smile with my eyes then it’s an added bonus.

But last week it was time for me to step behind the camera. To be the photographer not the model. After last week’s trampolining photo shoot I was inspired to spend the week enjoying the fad of photography with my friend Lorna Harris. We planned a late night photography session where we could try out some experimental traffic shots. Of course this being England, the weather was not on our side and it rained relentlessly. But in the true British spirit we went on regardless and I donned my ill fitting ski jacket. So I could stand on a bridge, in the dark, in the rain, with a tripod and umbrella, taking pictures of traffic. You can see why Lorna didn’t want to do this photo shoot on her own, as weird shared is weird halfed. Also this may be Canterbury but thieves still exist and tripods are better protected in numbers. Though what I would have done if someone attempted to steal the camera, I don’t know. I’m only confrontational when drunk or just woken up. Also I’m not really a runner, I’m more into my gymnastics and dance classes. And though cartwheeling after a thieve would be impressive it wouldn’t be that effective.

It was on this cold and wet bridge that I learnt how to be a photographer. My first lesson was this: You need a good camera. A professional camera makes a lot of difference; there are certain shots and effects you just can’t get on a basic camera. We wanted to take pictures of traffic so it looked like streams of light instead of cars. Which we achieved by playing with the shutter speed. Yeah! That’s right – I learnt about shutter speed. But now that it’s nearly a week later, 11 o’clock at night and I’m high on sugar from the cupcakes that I just baked. I’m not actually capable of explaining how the shutter speed affects the way a camera takes a picture. I only know that it means you can write letters with your phone light and the camera captures it. How cool?

I also learnt about aperture priority mode (the size of the lense when it opens) and the depth of field. Unfortunaly I’m struggling to explain these photography lessons but if you do want to find out for yourself then I couldn’t recommend a better teacher than Lorna Harris. She was a-mazing, she wrote me a cheat sheet with definitions, she demonstrated how to use the camera, trusted me to use it and more importantly she cooked me sausages and mash for our pre shooot dinner. I really enjoyed the photography session and am really proud of the results. Some of which I’ve uploaded here and the rest you can check out at on Flickr. I’m particularly proud of the boots in the puddle photo that I took. Granted it was Lorna’s camera and Lorna’s idea but I pushed that button. Though I was enjoying my time behind the camera it wasn’t long till the surrounding trees were calling me back in front of it. So I persuaded Lorna to stop taking pictures of puddles and to take pictures of me. Which is how I ended up looking like the green goblin of Dane John Gardens in the featured photo.

My love of photography carried on over the weekend as I played the now infamous party game of ‘Tiger Face’, ‘Lemon Face’. Introduced to me by the legend that is Rachel Tate in a Prague bar. You basically point a camera at someone and ask them to pull a face like a tiger by shouting Tiger Face. Then you ask them to pull a face like you’re sucking a lemon by shouting Lemon Face. Simple but effective. And a great way to meet strangers. Who needs to ask ‘Do you come here often?” when you can shove a camera in their face and ask them to growl like a tiger? My fad for photography continued as I took photos of the London Fashion Week Models from my front row seat. Oh yeah, that’s right - front row at London Fashion Weekend. Granted it was the day for the paying public and I got to sit at the front as I happened to start queuing at the right time. But still, that’s really cool. And as I sat there taking in important life lessons such as, having statement lips and ballerina buns this season. I also managed to take some pictures of the incredibly beautiful models including the picture uploaded here.

Right, I think that’s enough self indulgent showing off for one blog. I don’t think photography is a helpful hobby for me as I’m either showing off that I pushed a button. Drunkenly shouting ‘Tiger Face’ at strangers. Or demanding that others take my photo while I look like a paedo in the woods at night.

I also think that this fad on fads is starting to tire me out a bit. So I’m going to start updating my blog fortnightly. Please do not cry for me fad fans. Though they’ll be a longer wait between blogs the quality will be much improved. I have started at least two sentences with the word ‘and’ in this blog, which I hate doing. But I am very tired and the sugar from my cupcakes has worn off. Also, the next fortnight’s fad is Football and I want to do my ‘Arsenal v Burnley’ blog the justice it deserves.

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Happy hobbying

Lots of love Mumf xxxxxxxxx

That girl can bounce

I was born to bounce. The trampoline is an extension of me. A rather heavy and awkward to walk with extension of me. Which is why I leave it in the industrial estate warehouse where my trampoline club is based.

One of the things I love most about trampolining is that people are surprised I’m good at it. Yeah, that’s right, I’m blowing my own horn, but I am good. Those of you who have spent more than 5 minutes in my company know that I’m a chubby blonde who struggles to go a day without accidental self harm or wardrobe malfunctions. So the fact that I can bounce over 10 ft in the air and not die comes as a surprise. Not that I haven’t come close to death, just the other week I was trying a half twist to back drop half twist out and I landed on someone elses trampoline. Then In tonights sessions I tried to see if I could cartwheel on a trampoline… I can’t.

But what’s a hobby without a little risk. Last week it was papercuts and frustration. While injuring myself by falling ungraciously is a risk I take every time I touch gin, so I'm used to it. Besides, I love trampolining and due to even more unforeseeable circumstances the Lego man has had to cancel on me again. Which is why I thought I would write about my passion instead of someone else’s. Now some of you may be sceptical about me calling trampolining a passion as opposed to a fad. I have proven my love of fads and ability to get bored quickly, so what makes trampolining different? Well trampolining is a return hobby, like going back to your first love after you’ve had time to grow and mature. This makes it different and more than a fad, so there.

I first started trampolining when I was 8 years old and a member of the Hitler Youth. Or Westcroft Gymanstics Club to give it its proper name. I was doing what we did at the end of every session, sitting with my legs as far apart as they can go with my forehead resting on the floor for 1 minute. (There was a time when that stretch was more than a drunken pipe dream and I could do it no problem). But it wasn’t enough that I could do it, everyone in the club had to be able to do it. So if one girl lifted her head before the minute was up we had to stay there for another minute. This one session I had been resting my head on the floor for nearly 5 minutes and it was starting to hurt. And it was at this point that I turned my head slightly looked through the double doors and saw a girl bouncing on the trampoline. I saw freedom. Even now I associate trampolining with feeling free. Cheesy, I know. But sometimes I honestly feel like I’m flying (or at least falling with style) and I love that sensation.

I need to thank Aire Trampoline Club for bringing trampolining back into my life and for supporting me so much with it. Not only am I learning to somersault safely, I’m learning how to teach others. Every Tuesday from 6.30 – 7.30 I help to coach 9 – 11 years old trampolining. This is not just a hobby to put down on the C.V or whip out to impress the fellas. It’s something that I genuinely enjoy doing it, it’s like teaching, but with kids who actually want to be there and with no marking. I even have a G.C.S.E P.E book so I can brush up on my anatomy (insert own joke here) for the Level 1 coaching qualification course. Aire Trampoline Club is also looking into putting me on a judging course so I can judge at the local competitions. How cool is that? I also need to thank Lorna Harris for being the photographer on my trampolining photo shoot. An odd and difficult experience for both of us. Trying to smile with my eyes while pulling my legs in two different directions is as hard as it sounds. While trying to capture a photo of someone landing in a front drop without a blurred cleavage shot is as difficult as it sounds. I’ll get to find out more about the trickiness of photography next week though, as Lorna will be sharing her hobby with me.

So I’m in the trampolining circle (like the magic circle apart from the magic and the fact that it doesn't actually exist). I’m a card carrying member of the British Gymanstic Federation (yeah that’s right – just check my purse.) After next weeks session I should have completed my level 1 – 5 and got trampolining badges for my efforts. (Yeah that’s right – 5 actual badges that I will sew onto my actual clothes) All that’s next is the leotard and short shorts. Hmmm….not sure if I can pull of a look designed for prepubescent girls and Olympians. Maybe this will have to be a fad after all.

Many Thanks

Mumf xxxxx

A doodle dabble

This week I have learnt that comic book writing is hard, drinking in the day is fun and that I have a domestic violence relationship with my car. The first lesson I learnt by having to dedicate a whole weekend to just one page of A4 stickwomen. The second lesson I knew anyway but I do love a refresher course. The third lesson was taught rather painfully when Foxy (my car) finally fought back. In the last year I haven given him a rear bump, a broken seat and knocked off both his wing mirrors. On Saturday Foxy fought back though when I hit my head on the car door frame on my way to Body Groove. Then two days later, after I had realised I had been driving for 5 minutes with the car boot open, I went to shut said door but instead shut it on my head.

This has nothing to do with fads I admit. Unless swearing loudly at the inanimate object you have given a personality to is now considered a hobby. But Foxy got such sweet revenge on me that even washing my hair hurts. So I feel the need to share my pain and Facebook status’s just aren’t enough anymore. Drinking in the day wasn’t my fad either, a gin is not just for fad, gin is for life. But it was fun and it did help with my actual fad of the week, comic book writing. This fad was introduced to me by the very talented comic book artist and friend Sophie Dean. Now, Sophie has always been extremely artistic, at University her Halloween costumes were incredible feats of ingenious paper maches inventions. Such as George the giant monster head with bin bag hair and eye holes in the nostrils.

She also loves a good doodle and has taken a way to pass the time and turned it in to a professional hobby. Sophie works in publishing rights and in 2008 was at the Frankfurt Book Fair. She did what all bored people with a pen and company time to waste do, she doodled. What flowed from that biro ended up being “The Guide to the Frankfurt Book Fair”, a comic piece of comic writing that won praise from friends and colleagues alike. It was so good that even Sophie’s boss loved it when she handed it in as her official report on the Book Fair (Yes, she’s that cool.) From there it just grew and grew, and now Sophie has her own website www.bitbookish.com dedicated to her comics. A site I really recommend you visit as she has a real witty, clever writing voice, and her drawings are much better than mine.

So who better to mentor me in my new fad of comic book writing? All I needed now was an idea. Hmmmm… usually I’m not short of ideas. Though they are mainly wooing or werewolf focused. Sometimes they get combined and it's about a wooing werewolf – they’re the best. But I was struggling to think of something that could be expressed in an A4 page or less as I knew I wouldn't be able to produce more than that. This wasn’t the time for a saga about a young girl in love with a time traveller or a bunch of prankster superhero friends; they would have to wait till creative writing class. I knew that it had to be short, funny and simple – so I considered a self portrait (see what I did there?) As I mulled this over I couldn’t tell if it was the wine I had been drinking since 12pm. Or because my housemate Rhiannon and I felt like the naughty kids banished to her room during a Belleville practise. Well naughty kids that are banished with a bottle of wine. But I was finding everything really funny and couldn't stop laughing, and that’s when it hit me. I’ll write about this, about all the funny times I have with my housemates aka my wives.

The fact that it was valentines weekend as well, made the decision to write a comic book dedicated to my wives all the more fated. I won’t go into the detail about these funny moments and the things I love and enjoy slightly less about my housemates. As that’s detailed in the ‘Good Wife Life – The pros and cons of having wives (i.e. my amazing housemates)’ comic strip.

So please appreciate my comic strip as it took me so bloody long to make. Firstly I had to get into my cuddle monkey (my brand of slanket/snuggie – the blanket with arms). Then I worked out what I wanted to say and how many boxes that would take. I then had to work out how to draw stick people, oh you may chuckle but it took me a long time to get to thIS standard of stick people drawing. Then I had to make sure that all the little stick people and their little stick accessories could fit in their little stick boxes. I then traced it all on a new page so I didn’t have the marks from old pencil lines that I had rubbed out. Next, I went over this pencil drawing in black pen so it would show up more when I scanned it. I then had to find someone with a scanner to scan it and email it to me – Thank You Lorna. Then I put the scanned image in a word document, finalised my dialogue and wrote my text boxes. Lastly, I got it spell checked and proof read by said wives before turning into a jpeg by copying it into paint. I admit that it may have been quicker if I used computer programmes more advanced then word and paint, but I knows what I likes and I likes what I know. But if that comic book writing process felt long to read then try living it.

Comic book writing is hard. It’s not the creative output for me. I feel I can get more across and in less time with just plain old writing. I’m sure they’ll be times in my life that can only be properly expressed through stick people. I’m just not so sure I’ll have another free weekend to dedicate to it. But I’ll probably dabble from time to time, I do get so bored so very easily. I’ll leave the full time comic book hobbying to the professionals such as Sophie. Whose dabble in doodling has taken her to a place both professionally and personally that she never imagined 2 years ago.

So another week over and a new fad to be had. Now, the eagle eyed among you may be wondering why I haven’t spent the last few minutes talking about lego modelling as that’s what I said I’d be doing at the end of my last blog. Well due to a back injury lego modelling had to be rescheduled to this weeks fad. So you’ll have to wait to find out why a back injury had delayed the lego modelling fun and what exactly is so fun about it. What a blog cliffhanger.

Hope you enjoyed reading and please become a fan of the shesbeenfad fan page if you haven’t already.

Look forward to talking to you next week

Many Thanks

Much love Mumf xxxx

One girl and her rainmaker

This week I have learnt that it takes more to be in a band than a pretty dress, some knock off Lion bars and an annoyingly excitable attitude. Which is a sad fact as I also realised that’s all I have to offer.

I like music but I don’t understand it, I don’t know how to tell a G from an F, a tom from a snare or how to be part of a three part harmony. For years my musical influences were just Britney and Bublé, till my housemate Emily Yates started to introduce me to new musical styles and proper gigs. Then came the unearthing of a band named after me that I knew I had to see, if not for the novelty value alone. But it ended up being more than that, it was the discovery of a new favourite band, a style of foot stomping and a calling in life as a follower of Folk. Mumford and Sons weren’t the first band to change my musical life though, that honour goes to Belleville, my said housemate’s band. From their early days as a three piece band whose rehearsals were often interrupted by my appearance in a pink towel. (Those readers who have also witnessed this look can confirm that this was in no way an attempt for groupie status, due to band members’ Christian status and my looking like a shapeless marshmellow.) Right up to my baking of 80 cupcakes for their The First Dance EP launch in 2009 (that’s right 80 cupcakes – 3 different flavours) my position as number one fan has been secured.

Therefore, it seemed a very fitting start to ‘She’s Been Fad’ that for my first week I would share in my housemate’s hobby nay passion for the band Belleville. The experience began with a lyric writing session late Tuesday evening where I wrote a line that will hopefully make the final cut of their song “All the promises I’ve heard”. I won’t spoil it by telling you which line, you’ll have to come to a gig and wait for the moment that I jump up and point at myself repeatedly to find that out. As the week progressed so did my lessons in three part harmonising, thanks to my “wives” patience and persistence, till I felt I was as ready as I was going to be for the Belleville band rehearsal on Saturday.

Now, I’m no fool and I know that to be allowed to interrupt an important band rehearsal on a weekend I needed to come armed with more than just my charm. Which luckily one quick trip to Aldi, for some flapjacks, brownies and second rate Lion bars called ‘Roar’ solved. I also knew that I had to come prepared with something more than the ability to distract Karaoke fans with some well timed thrusts. (Those readers who have witnessed my Big Spender number know just what thrusts I’m talking about.) I therefore turned up with the one musical instrument I was trusted with in Music Class – The Rainmaker. A miniature version of course, brought as part of an amazing novelty birthday present for Emily.

So there I stood and there I shook. Sometimes in rhythm, sometimes not, mostly not. I tried to shake along as the band jammed, trying to perfect a new song and I can honestly say I have never felt more out of my depth. It’s just something I don’t understand, it must be like a non trekey listening to the classic why Deep Space Nine can never compare to Voyager argument. They can understand the words but not why they’re in a sentence together. I don’t know how people can create music out of nothing, put notes in an order that didn’t exist before, it’s incredible and a talent I wished I had. After speaking in more depth to Emily about being in the band and her love of music, I came to understand that to play music is in her and if she wasn’t in Belleville she’d be making music somewhere, somehow. Though Emily may have been faddy with her short-lived violin lessons and time as a bass player, making music is no fad, but part of her. Which is a beautiful thing.

Music is not part of me, which is fine. One can’t be good at everything and when one can’t even master a rainmaker one should really give up. But I want to thank Belleville for letting me share their passion with them, for playing my favourite song for me when they wanted to go home, for Justice patiently trying to teach me the drums and for Emily for making it happen. So please find out more about Belleville and listen to their music at http://www.myspace.com/bellevillemusic and join me in the fan club.

I must say that all in all, week one has been a success, and week two is looking rosy. As I started the week with an appearance on Radio One – oh yeah!!! Today I was on Fearne Cotton’s Music Generator and it was amazing, not only did I get my 15 minutes of fame but I was given the present of a beautiful song. The Music Generator did its job, it mixed up Mumford and Sons, Florence and the Machine and Laura Marling and came up with Stornoway, ‘I Saw you Blink’ (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AfI_dcH1d9U) The only low point was that the researcher asked me not to mention the blog because it would get a bit messy legally, as they can’t be seen to promote websites such as blogspots. Boo!!! Oh well, I did manage to sneak in a Belleville shout out and as honorary member and number one fan that’s all that matters

Thanks for reading and continue to leave your comments, suggestions and invites here or on my Facebook Fan Page shesbeenfad fan page

Next week…Lego modelling

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Becky Mumford