AND then there were six. The Famous Five have just added a digit. Me.

I’m not usually one for refereeing when musical tastes are under discussion. It can get ugly.

In my experience, scores let alone vinyl at 10 paces is not something you should interrupt. It can lead to recriminations and a close examination of your own musical foibles.

And as we all know, anyone’s album/cd download collection can reveal some early bad taste or youthful buying indiscretions.

Ridicule is all too easy though my modest music stash has never attracted anything approaching the sort of drubbing the late, lamented Kenny Everett used to dish out on his World’s Worst Wireless Show to hapless singers, some out of tune others just out of taste.

It was all horribly funny but made me all too aware that one person’s musical heaven is another’s absolute hell.

Don’t pitch in is my theory after all most of us probably have at least one musical skeleton rattling in our collection.

Though I did, just once – and in print. Pitch in that is. I was spending a weekend away visiting family when a brisk kick-about got underway concerning the music playing in the background.

He’s divine. It’s a dirge. He writes wonderful lyrics. Why are they all so depressing?

I got dragged in from the sidelines but was a total wash-out as the fourth official. No impartial decision from me.

I willingly took the next penalty. My goal? To defend Canadian singer Rufus Wainwright.

I’d been wearing his team colours for ages, recruited on a single car journey in Wales.

That visit to catch up with family saw me returning home with a CD of Rufus singing the songs of Judy Garland and a new habit – singing all the way to work – and back. In the car, I hasten to add before everyone boycotts buses out to Bradley.

My journey of musical discovery continued as a series of brown envelopes followed me home convincing me in a Jiffy that I was a fan. I got out my keyboard and tapped out a Rufus defence.

I was jealous of the two nights a gang of five from Wales spent adoring the man at his glitzy Royal Opera House concerts.

But after my stout work at the heart of the defence in the Welsh homelands, I was put on the bench and offered a team shirt at the next fixture.

And last week, I was part of the Wainwright Wanderers’ team which turned out to hear him sing on his UK tour.

The only funny thing that happened on the way to the Forum in Bath is that we made it to the venue in plenty of time.

We’d decided to make an afternoon of it and met up for lunch at Jamie Oliver’s restaurant in the honey coloured Georgian city.

Outside it was raining, but inside we thought we’d strayed into a faded Italian villa with its blue floral wallpaper and simple rustic wooden chairs and tables. The food was good, the company even better, so much so that we lingered long into early evening.

I decided the Bath Forum must have been a cinema in an earlier life. It has that art deco swagger that says look at me, I’ve got pillars, canopies, cunningly simple lights and style written all over me.

Inside, we couldn’t believe our luck. Despite its 1,700 seats, the venue has an intimate feel especially if like us, you find yourself settling right in the middle of the balcony’s second row. We felt like we were grandstanding.

If we weren’t, Mr Wainwright certainly was. I’ve never been to one of his concerts before but I hadn’t expected him to be, well, quite so jolly.

He is, after all, known not just for his skills as a writer and performer, for his haunting voice, his ability to create impossible effects with pitch and tone, but it has to be said, for his dark side.

But Bath got him dancing (and quite a lot of the audience by the end too). It seemed to surprise and delight the Wainwright Wanderers who to a man and woman agreed it was probably the best they’d heard him.

We all had our favourites. For me, it was Dinner at Eight, a beautiful new love song written for his partner Jorn called Song of You, a lovingly crafted version of On My Way To Town, an extravagant upbeat Jericho and ironically, Bitter Tears which had more than Rufus dancing.

It was a night to remember and I just hope I’ve earned my place on the team. Who said anything about five-a-side?