crosspollynation

We're not all cross.
Some of us are quite nice.

Me and my girlband.

When we left to go around Australia we left our beautiful antique hand-made Hibbert viola in Sydney with friends (Sam) so it wouldn't get ruined and we took our primary school (Hi there Winston!) violin with us - a half-size with a sturdy case and a bow so warped and tatty-haired it wouldn't matter if we played in the dirt. Which we did.

Now that we have settled for a bit, in the pretty little village of Bugsplat, I'm playing in a band. SheOak. Fiddle, flute and guitar. Three *ahem* women and not too much gathering of rhubarb.

We meet every Friday and play for at least a few hours. We are booked to play at a party in three weeks time. Three or four songs. We should be able to manage that.

It was either that or "puts the kettle on".

"Polly" hasn't always been my name.
Sometimes I'm glad about that.
When witty people say;
"Ooooh, I suppose you want a cracker!";
I find myself wondering what a real Polly would do.

Something violent, perhaps?
Possibly involving a kettle?

The blank looks they get from me must be confusing.
But that's all right.
I'm a confusing person.