“I don’t know what to write for my next blog,” said Ben. “I’ll do it!” came the words from my mouth, before I could stop them. So here it is, the life of a music producer, from a wife’s perspective.

I knew what I was getting into when I married him. He always has some kind of tune in his head, whether it be an elusive U2 b-side (stop playing them to me Ben, I hate them), or a catchy tune he’s just dreamed up.

I remember my friends describing a future picture of me, Ben and our kids in their heads to me, before we got married. Ben was downstairs with a ukulele, playing incessant tunes to the kids who were listening in rapturous wonder and I was upstairs sitting on the bed taking Prozac and fretting. Well it’s not quite got as far as the Prozac yet, but it was an eerie premonition that I have reflected on a few times since.

I’ve become used to bumping into various strangers in my kitchen – there was some confusion when I was told “Wesleyan Brad” was coming to record (I figured just a very religious character who liked music) but found both Wesley and Brad standing in my kitchen drinking tea. I have a little giggle to myself every time he says they’re coming.

Basically, when the doorbell goes, as long as you are carrying an instrument or look as if you might be musical, I’ll let you in and send you to the studio. What Ben does with you after that is up to him.

I love that Ben gets to do his dream job, and he’s really good at it. I often get envious that he has an obvious gift but I am glad he’s putting it to use.

He’s also very professional – I recall the time he tripped outside just before somebody arrived, but he carried on with the recording and limped in to me afterwards to sheepishly ask if I could take him to A&E because he thought he’d broken a rib. So off the four of us went, and surprise surprise, he had!

I also remember the time I arrived home to find 5 sheets of industrial sized soundproof sheeting in my living room. “No other wife would mind!” I was told. Well – a hastily put together Facebook poll proved that he was in fact, wrong. Most other wives cared very deeply and gave me their full sympathy.

There have been things to work through – I still struggle with the fact that he can decide to take a random day off whenever he chooses and work on the weekend instead – I’ve always been used to the 9-5 way of things. I’ve also mastered the art of panic-moving underwear from radiators whilst holding up my side of a conversation.

So how to end this blog? Maybe with a word of advice to other wives who find themselves with whimsical partners. You may as well give them your full support because you only live once and what’s life if you can’t follow your dream?

Oh – and always check that somebody has left the house before shouting down to your husband “have they left yet, I’m not dressed and I can’t find any underwear.”