I now know Simone Clements. I now know the woman I love. I now know my Goddess...

And to think I thought it was all heading for disaster.

She is astonishing. So calm, so assured. Everything I had thought about her, observing from afar, is true. She dominates any scene merely through her presence. "Well, if you think I'm so beautiful, you can pay for these drinks and come and join us," she said to me, turned on her heels and walked away. No debate, no hesitation, just the complete assurance that I would do it. And of course I did. How could I not? A goddess...

She's not an easy person. She knows her mind, and doesn't suffer fools gladly. That much was obvious straight away, when she chastised me for calling her a "thing". I was pardoned, but the implication was clear: don't mess with Simone. What a goddess...

I got so flustered I put my foot in it virtually every time I spoke. I practically accused the band of being rubbish the first time I heard them, which of course is the opposite of the truth. I followed that by wittering about how well they played, how I loved their style, how they sounded unrehearsed. My God, talk about damning with faint praise... They looked at me as though I were a madwoman.

Towards the end I began to relax and enjoy myself. I got pretty drunk, I have to say, which probably helped. I had paced myself until closing time, but we ended up in a massive lock-in, and I didn't get home till four o'clock. I'm not used to alcohol, really, and I had a week's quota last night. The result isn't pretty, and if it wasn't for the excitement of having met my Goddess I expect I would be laid up in bed, groaning, at this very moment.

The others loosened up as well, especially Marie, who I thought took against me at first. She and Don seemed particularly suspicious of me; in Don's case I suspect it is because he has a thing for Simone himself. All of the band seem to worship her (and who wouldn't?) but Don, in particular, seemed to hang on to every utterance.

And then they started a session. It was wonderful, simply out of this world. Being close at hand, watching the spontaneous joy of talented people making music was truly delightful. They are all such instinctive players, natural, without artifice. They play tunes, and they play them wonderfully well, letting the tunes express themselves, not imposing their pre- and misconceptions on them, freeing them from the usual straitjacket of over-fussy orchestration. It felt like I was taking part in a centuries old ritual, the passing on of music, participating in a rite of culture. It was a special, special event.

Which I ruined.

Why did I have to sing? I thought that they had genuinely enjoyed it, but on reflection I can see they were humouring me, congratulating me on the act of singing, rather than the singing itself. I feel terribly embarrassed when I think about it: I'm blushing as I write this. I wish I hadn't done it, wish I had left the music-making to the experts. But too late now, and I won't be disheartened. The evening started and finished badly, but in between was wonderful. And I now know my Goddess. Despite my throbbing hangover, I am the happiest woman alive.