A pram in the hall is worth two in the Patch

Cyril Connolly, English intellectual, literary critic and writer said "There is no more sombre enemy of good art than the pram in the hall."

If that is true then The Sweet Ordeal are in serious trouble, because two prams are about to block our hall, which would make it difficult even for a musician with a ukulele to squeeze down.

Yes, Sam has just given birth to Seth (congratulations!), and John and his partner Evie (cello player extraordinaire, congratulations!) are about to deliver pretty, pretty soon too.

That will eventually bring us up to a magnificent seven dustbin lids, which means if the prams don't trip us up, the pile of Crocs will.

The question is how will we survive as a band amidst a swirl of poo, breasts, sleepless nights, increasingly complex childcare arrangements and - with at least 4 girls - remembering who is who among all that pink and leggings?

The timing of my bandmates of course could not be worse. But this isn't about their selfish need to have more children per se, it's about the festival season. Yep, we finally get round to starting to perform in public when we have to stop. All those outdoor stages, all those pub gigs, all those disappointed punters, all because of feeling fruity in the autumn. Keep your underwear on guys and we could have played The Brunswick!

Still, as mentioned, we did perform in public. Yes, for those of you who have followed our progress through 11 previous entries, The Sweet Ordeal finally played on a stage, in front of the public. No your eyes aint deceiving you, we really did it. Go on, read this paragraph again.

Entirely staged. The Sweet Ordeal go public. April 2014. Photo: Hannah Beaumont

However, getting to that point had been slightly traumatic and then it almost didn't happen, which was only slightly dramatic. I'll explain.

Way back before John and Sam decided to get jiggy with their respective partners, we had decided that our first performances would be via a series of private, intimate kitchen gigs. The rationale was that unlike a two or three song open mic night, our own gig would afford us the opportunity not only to play for longer but to be able to wear slippers: important at my age.

The first time we got giggy with it, was in John and Evie's kitchen, and no, before you ask it was not nine months ago. That was a brilliant night, where we discovered we weren't half bad, which was probably driven by the fact that the wonderful national-treasures-in-waiting The Self Help Group kindly supported us, thus making sure we pulled our performing socks up. Well above our knees.

Buoyed by this lovely warm experience we then held another kitchen gig, way out west in, er, West Chiltington. Whereas, the first was folky, this one was WAGgy. Poor Caroline and Jude tried to be the perfect hosts, it was just that the West Chiltington glitterati obviously so deprived of a good night out in the Sussex countryside, came prepared for a house party. The key - in hindsight - hilarious moment was John suggesting to the gathering that they sit down on the rug laid out before us, as had happened at his house. One look at the several pairs of six inch heals gave out the message that no one was going to be doing any sitting down, thank you very much, girlfriend.

Ukeclear option. Bombing in West Chiltington. March 2014. Photo: Mir Cooke

We did manage to recover in time for a third kitchen gig, though whisper it amongst yourselves, it was actually in a living room, and my one at that. Cheats. However, an appreciative flat footed audience helped us regain our mojo leaving us to do one final thing before pregnancy bumps became stage barriers.

Not quite the final curtain. Lounging, The Sweet Ordeal style. April 2014.

When John told us we were playing the Castle Stage at a festival, I thought I'd be shouting out something like "Hello Leeds, how you doin'? Are you ready to, er, folk!" or somesuch coke and limo fuelled greeting. However, cruelly, that was denied to me by the small inconvenience of the stage 1. not being in Leeds and 2. Actually being in a park. And before you ask, not Hyde, but William Clarke. Known by locals as the Patch.

Though it was a stage, which meant for the first time in The Sweet Ordeal's fledgling career we were actually above our audience, who would be forced to look up to us. Very important when you have a fragile ego like me. However, even better than that, the Castle Stage did actually look like a castle. With turrets and everything!

All along the watchtower. At Spring in the Patch. April 2014. Photo: Hannah Beaumont

Slowly, carefully and with little care of health and safety (yeah, screw you, er, European bureaucrats!) the guys set up the stage whilst the rain was stair rods and the park was empty. The ice cream seller looked on forlornly. It was like that Year of the Mud at Glasto, 'cept without mud and people.

Yet, eventually the rain stopped and the locals descended. We were second on and boy did we not disappoint! We had at least one three year old boy dancing in the aisles. Okay, he was Sam's son, but hey, beggars can't be choosers, and we all have to start somewhere, right? On the back of what can only be described as a-local-folk-band-playing-a-small-local-park-festival, we were actually offered the chance to play a proper festival with tents and paying customers and stuff, but the Bumps understandably decided No.

Drowning, no numbers. Rain almost stopped play. April 2014. Photo: Nick McMaster

So, we did it. And this probably brings us neatly to the end of another chapter in our story. Whilst we await the onset of nappies we are hopeful of this being a sabbatical rather than, well, rather than not. Connolly described his style as "either bright, cruel and superficial; or pessimistic; moth-eaten with self-pity." That sounds like some of my lyrics. On the pram front however, he got it wrong. Children actually brought us together and hopefully will continue to inspire us to good art. Bring 'em on.