The Most Important Man In My Life

That was the main reason my long-term relationship broke up. I'd fallen in love with someone else. Love at first sight, I didn't even think that existed: I'd asked him to marry me and let me carry his children within 10 minutes of our meeting. It didn't matter that I'd been living with someone else for five years. It didn't matter that I didn't know his surname at that point, or his age, or what he did for a living. I just knew that I loved him more deeply than anyone I'd ever loved before.

He, however, had a girlfriend he was relatively faithful to, and my feelings weren't reciprocated - in fact, to this day, he probably thinks that I was just drunk (I wasn't) - so nothing happened that night. Except for me laying the groundwork, nothing happened for another two years.

Three years later, carrying his child, whilst still in the same stagnant relationship, I realised the guy I'd fallen in love with was far from the ideal man. He'd decided the best way to handle my pregnancy was to ignore me. Ironically, it was my partner who talked him round, and bought him back into my life. And how… to this day, neither he nor my then-partner will tell me what was said, but he came back into my life loving me as much as I loved him. I didn't even feel the pain of leaving my eight year relationship behind, and to be fair, neither did my partner. I'd found true love, and I was happy like you couldn't imagine.

The cracks began to form so quickly. He was young and lost in the world, trying to make his way. I remained pretty sure of my place, established and confident. He was a realist; pragmatic and practical. I was a dreamer; spontaneous, impulsive, with my heart clearly worn on my sleeve. He was the most talented composer I'd ever known, but he had no love for music... could there have been a clearer sign than that?

For five months none of this mattered. Then, when I lost the baby: everything mattered. I'd already lost my brother, and my father had died just a week before. Suddenly, he'd become The Most Important Man In My Life.  When he failed to live up to my expectations of that role, I made him jump through hoops to prove that he loved me, even though I always knew he did. I chipped away and chipped away at him until what was once the purest love turned into a chaotic dark energy. It was destroying both of us.

He made the break. I spent the best part of a year in physical pain and psychological torment, blaming myself for what had happened. Recovery was slow, and it was only through blocking him from every aspect of my life I managed to heal. Then, just a few months ago, I decided I was healed enough, and I let him back in, as a friend.

Every single thing I posted on Facebook, he 'liked'. When I left Facebook, the emails started up again. Eventually, I started writing back. It felt comfortable - comforting, even. There was calmness between us that had never existed before. Every word was like a reassuring hand on a tired shoulder; friendly and encouraging, with nothing hidden between the lines.

I had no intention of meeting up with him when I was in Stockholm last week, but in the end, we drifted together.  Without even realising it, we recreated our first date - we ate in the same restaurant, we went to the same bar, then we sat outside the library, smoking cigarettes and talking until the sun reminded us it was time to part. 

I wasn't in love with him anymore, and he wasn't in love with me anymore, but I love him more deeply than anyone I've ever loved before. And although we'll never be together in any other sense again, he is The Most Important Man In My Life. There isn’t a thing he needs to do to prove himself. I know he feels exactly the same way.

Performance Anxiety

I've never been able to sing in front of an audience.

That's a bit of a hindrance when you're the lead singer of a band, as you may imagine. When we started out, I'd have to down an entire bottle of vodka before I could get on stage. Some people loved that - the drunk teen forgetting the words to her own songs, falling over, and making no effort to hold a tune. For them, it was all part of 'the experience'. I hated it, and then I got all butthurt when people dared to hint that my performances were shambolic.

Even at that age, I was fully aware that I wasn't drinking for fun. If I was drinking for fun, it'd be 5 bottles of Diamond White. I was drinking to forget myself, forget the situation, forget I was about to be under the scrutiny of people I didn't actually know. In the end, and thankfully for my liver, I just stopped doing it. I didn't have the 'mettle' or whatever it is that it takes. Instead, I devoted myself to learning about this new thing called the internet, and if I wanted to put a song out - from 1994 onwards - I just did it online. 

The strange thing is I sing all the fucking time. I'm on the introvert side, but I'm not THAT introverted. I do sing in front of people. I sing on the train, in the shops, walking down the street... It's only when I'm aware that their focus is on my singing, as opposed to anything else, that I start to freak out. It isn't conventional stage fright: I've never understood what my problem is. 

People always come back with: "What about in the studio?" - honest answer being, I've never set foot in a studio. I'd lay down the basic structure of the song, the lads would go in and record their parts, then I'd do the rest at home. I recorded my vocals for the last 15 tracks on my iPhone. Prior to that, I used a digital video recorder. Prior to that, I used a cassette tape and a microphone. We probably ended up calling it "lo-fi" simply because I couldn't work with other people.

That was the whole reason I forced myself to do the TV show before my 40th birthday. I felt this anxiety was something that had profoundly changed the course of my life, and I was determined to overcome it. I'd always said to my friends that I'd do it before I turned 40, never believing the show would last 10 years; and when 10 years rolled around they held me to it. 

I sent in a video online. That was all I was gonna do, there wasn't a chance in hell you'd catch me queuing up for a 'shot at fame'. I worked with some really famous people when I was in my 20s - I saw the pressure they were under from all sides, and I saw who'd they'd become because of that. It was the last thing I wanted...even with our extremely small fanbase, I'd had 'problem fans', and I'm not that great with people anyway. I couldn't imagine how I'd handle that being amplified by 'X' amount.  The video was sent to show willing, nothing more.

What came next, I didn't expect: they loved the video, and I was put through to producers round, which meant there was no queuing or any of that malarkey. The next step had begun. I refused to mention to the producers that this was the very first time I'd sung in front of someone since I was 21 - I had no intention of becoming "storyline auditionee". - I took a deep breath, I closed my eyes, and I sang.

Of course, I need to point out here, I'm not a good singer, anyway - when you're recording with unlimited time and unlimited takes, you're going to get a decent result eventually. But regardless of how mediocre I sounded, they liked me. They liked my personality. They put me through to the celebrity panel.

I began to warm to the whole idea. Not because I'd finally found my courage, oh no. Because, I remembered that - somewhere in the archives - I had a song I'd written about one of the judges. He'd said back in season 2 or 3 that no one had ever written a song about him, so I'd written him one that night. Fully intended on recording it and sending it to him, but another song came along, the way they always do, and it never happened. This was my chance to breathe some life into a long dead project.

On the counter side, I still had to sing. They'd booked me in for three recordings on the sister show, so it was almost given that whatever I sang would appear on television. The idea of 10 million people potentially seeing me perform gave me more than one restless night, and I ended up chickening out in a way. I developed a little plot in my head where I'd get to do the audition in front of an audience, but it would never screen.

I ended up playing on their music runner's slight inefficiency. I had an inkling something was amiss when he'd double-checked that 'the words and melody were my own'. I told him they were, and mentioned in passing it was a registered work. (which, of course, it wasn't until 3 minutes later). I knew I was dry and clear when he never responded to that. Then, when I dropped him the cue sheet information after the audition, he actually asked me - God's honest truth - "What's a cue sheet?". Yet he'd worked on Britain's biggest music show for 5 years....

Turns out , in all the years they've been going, I'm the only artist they've ever had audition with a song of their own that was already registered with a performing rights society. They couldn't get publisher clearance in time (ahem) and the audition never screened. Still, I did what I'd set out to do. I'd auditioned, in front of an audience & played one of the judges his very own song.

I thought I'd got away with it. Then, about three weeks ago, they called and asked if I'd come back this year. I said no initially, but then I thought up a new plan, and I said 'yes'. Sometimes, to destroy the machine, you have to act like a cog.

This year's strategy is to sing songs that are well known in other countries, but not in the UK: my lead song is Paris (Ooh La La) by Grace Potter and The Nocturnals - I almost threw it out as a choice, until I saw the incredible Brian Fuente give it his all on The Voice USA, and I was sold. Quite incredibly, 9 out of 10 takes, I can totally rock it. My other songs are similarly unknown in the UK. I believe I know the show, and I know there is no way in hell they'd risk screening an unknown song to a primetime audience.

I'm still as anxious as I ever was. I haven't sung in front of people again since last year. I've lost a lot of sleep, I seem to live on Twtter, and I'm having the craziest dreams of my life. Still, I'm finally facing up to the judgement of Simon Cowell. And even though I know I'm not up to standard, I don't really care anymore. It's the taking part that counts.

Reclaiming Health

When you're under a lot of stress, you let certain things go.

I've put on 30 pounds since the miscarriage. It's not like my diet changed; I didn't start comfort eating, or anything. I just didn't do anything. I've had other horrible physical symptoms too, which I won't go into here. Basically, I'm in a mess, and that needs to be sorted out.

When I say "I'm in a mess" - compared to other people, I'm having an easy ride. I've never once - not in my life - felt compelled to post a Facebook status outlining my ailments; I figure you have to be in an awful lot of pain or distress to do that.  Just, personally, I don't like not being at my best. Just because I'm 40 now doesn't mean I should sit back and accept the failings of my body.

First stop was the doctor. She's long suspected that I'm diabetic, and that my symptoms were actually a sign of diabetes. However, my biggest phobia in the world is needles, so the blood test took me 6 months longer to get done that it should have.  Guess what? Not even close. No deficiencies, no diseases, I have perfect blood - as if the mosquitoes hadn't told me that already.

With that out the way, I drew the conclusion that my current physical state is mostly down to my own laziness and apathy. Therefore I'm the one who has to sort it out. I'm lucky that I can "carry weight well": I don't look like I'm on the verge of obesity, but I am. Diet won't help me, it never does: the next step on this road to recovery is to get myself into a decent training routine. If I can knock off just 1 pound a week, I'll be back in shape by the first week of 2015.  The plan is to start off at home, and move it back to the gym at the start of July.

There's a few self-dictated rules I have that will help. I never really drink alcohol in the summertime. I get dehydrated very easily, and even a couple of drinks can bring on a headache, so I don't really bother. My rule used to be that I'd allow myself to drink if I was out of the country - but I ended up out of the country so often, it didn't make much sense. The new rule is I'll allow myself to have a couple of drinks when I'm outside of Europe. Sure, I'll have a glass of wine if I'm out to dinner abroad, I'm not that strict with myself, it's just a nice little bit of self-discipline.

I'm still smoking. I had intended to quit that before turning 40, but I haven't. I bought myself a new style electronic cigarette, but I lost it the day after I bought it. I think that's my biggest demon: if I can even get it down to one pack a day, it'll be progress.

One thing I have going in my favour is that I've discovered I can cook. Right up until my late 30s, I had no inclination towards it. Now, I have a fully stocked freezer with healthy meals that I've prepared myself, and they taste - dare I say it - amazing.

I'm not going to become a fitness bore: there'll be no posts from me about the ups and downs of this particular battle, I won't be checking in online every single time I go to the gym, or every time I hit a milestone.  I'm just going to get my head down and get to it. Sometimes it's the only way to win.