When I left school, I went to the Job Centre and did a computer career analysis test. The suggestions it came up with were 'the police' or 'musician'. I didn't fancy mixing with criminals, and The Police had got a pretty good bass guitarist at the time, so I told the lady I wanted to be a musician and could she give me any jobs doing that? 'Of course not,' she replied curtly, peering disapprovingly at me from the cold, dark abyss between her glasses and her frown. 'Entertainment is a "glamour" job, which everyone wants to get into; the Job Centre doesn't have openings for such dubious things.' Had I considered becoming an accountant?

No, I hadn't. I liked the idea of being a singer/musician. Like the rest of the world, I believed the glamour image was real. I started off semi-pro, working in bands on a Saturday night, and gave up the day job to turn pro four years later. I've been professional for several years, and I now know how wrong both that woman and I had been about the glamour bit.

Funnily enough, everyone I meet both socially and at gigs would love to swap places with me, earning a living doing something as wonderfully self-indulgent as singing. You get to dress up and show off in wonderful clothes, be admired and appreciated, and are pursued by members of the opposite sex. Sounds great, doesn't it? Well, if that's your idea of what it's like to be a professional musician, I can guarantee one thing — you aren't one, and you certainly aren't a female one!

I was also wrong in thinking that in entertainment I wouldn't be dealing with criminals. I hadn't reckoned on agents, managers, A & R people, and music business lawyers, not to mention landlords, audiences, and even other musicians, ripping me off and stealing my equipment.

Sure, I do love singing for its own sake and that's why I do it, but the reality of being a full-time solo female entertainer is decidedly difficult more often than not. You are totally on your own. There is no support from other colleagues or an organisation that you are employed by. Most people you meet resent the fact that you seem to have such freedom because you don't have a day job, and you seem to be enjoying yourself so much when you're doing your 'job'. It's time to set the record straight!

A typical day starts at around 9.30am when you drag yourself awake, still exhausted from last night's gig which really took it out of you because you sang for two and a half hours. The phone's ringing with possible offers of work, so you have to answer it. Unfortunately, the call isn't work, but a relation.

'What? Got you out of bed? But it's half past nine! The rest of the world's been up for hours. You musicians are lazy gits, staying in bed half the day.' You protest, saying that considering you got to bed approximately five hours after they did, you aren't due to get up until at least eleven. The logic is lost on them. In their eyes, you're still a lazy git.

Having dispensed with said annoyance, you decide not to go back to bed. You're due out again later and there's a lot to get through: working on new material (some of which is boring old crap, but you're in the business of keeping the punters happy), practising the guitar parts, vocal exercises to improve your technique, an aerobics workout to keep up your stamina, doing the books for the accountant, repairing your overworked equipment, or maybe buying a new outfit, because next week's regular venue has seen all your other ones. Some of this can, of course, be done on your days off, but often there aren't any days off. Today was my first day off for three weeks and I'm writing this! It's very hard to turn work down when you're self-employed. You never know when you're in for a lean period.

Five o'clock arrives and you've been rushing round all day, trying to get things done. Even at the gig, people still suffer from 'What do you do for a living?'

'This. I'm a singer.'

'What, you mean this is all you do? Don't you have a proper job?'

Those words — a proper job! They have haunted and persecuted every musician I've ever met. Just because it can be fun, people don't think it's a job, they don't think it's work. They don't consider the long-distance driving I do on my own; the late nights and anti-social hours; the broken relationships, loneliness, and lack of social life; the unwelcome advances from horrid leering men wanting to 'score'; the verbal abuse 'when do you take your clothes off, love?'; the poor working conditions (smoke-filled venues and broom cupboard changing facilities); and all the work involved in developing musicianship skills and setting up and maintaining an act, which is, after all, a small business. And everyone knows how hard it is to run a small business.

I don't argue with the disbelievers any more. I just smile sweetly and say, 'yes, this is all I do. I spend most of my daytime lazing in bed, while you're out at work. It's great!' Perpetuating the myth? Perhaps, but I've tried giving them the argument, the reality. They don't want to know. My final retort is always this: if they really think being a professional entertainer or musician is such a cushy number, why aren't they out there doing it themselves? The fact is, most of them haven't got the bottle.

A full-time professional musician, Shirley Gray has been playing for longer than she cares to tell Sound On Stage readers.