Caroline Shaw

I've always been a true blue. There was no conversion on the road to Damascus, nor on the road to Maine Road for that matter. I simply can't remember any time from before there was a poster of Francis Lee bluetacked above the bedroom mantelpiece.

I didn't really start taking it seriously though until I'd long since left South Manchester for South London. About four years ago a group of friends set up a Fantasy Football League. It was only natural that I would pack my dream team full of City players. It was equally natural that this team would end up at the bottom of the table. (Less a fantasy and more this year's waking nightmare). Anyway I eventually learnt my lesson, and now just field one City player for sentimental reasons. This season it's Garry Flitcroft. He's got me a less than glittering 13 points from 17 matches so far.

Fantasy football rekindled the love affair with the real thing. Me and my sister go to matches now when we can, but it took us a while to get the hang of some of the basics. I've had many occasions to be grateful for the forbearance of fellow supporters. Like the match against Oldham at Maine Road which was so full of goals (yes, it was a few years ago) that we had to take turns asking complete strangers what the score was.

And then, sometimes our mum comes along too. She sounds more like the Queen Mother than Hilda Ogden and her real passion is horse racing not football. So, what better way to encourage the lads on a wet and wintry afternoon facing Wimbledon than shouting out, loud and clear, "COME ON MY BEAUTIES!". Now, I admire Keith Curle as much as the next woman, but I'm not sure I would describe him as beautiful exactly...

The main problem now is that my sister is so pregnant that she can only just squeeze through the turnstiles. At that dire match at Selhurst Park, when we somehow managed to lose to Wimbledon, she found out for certain that the baby will be a discerning football fan: it showed no interest in anything at the match except the halftime cup of tea.

Still, I won't let this put me off trying to get it to love the blues. I'm stockpiling Junior Blues kit to smuggle past its Leeds-supporting father in the hope that, like me, it'll be a true blue from the very start.