An Ear to the Ground

Pack a group of girls off on holiday and, within about an hour, they'll have found their 'tour song', one they'll sing everywhere it's appropriate (and most places it's not). You can trust me on this - 21 years of being a girl have made me something of an expert.

Choosing our tour song was simple. We were pack of the school's thirty best hockey and netball players travelling to face off against our Australian counterparts - it was inevitable that the Victorian-era school song would become a soundtrack to our trip. This was our scaled-down patriotism. We didn't want to be another nameless group of English travellers; we wanted Australia to know who we were!

We sang it everywhere. A rousing rendition before matches and a celebratory verse after wins. Singalongs to perk ourselves up during gruelling training sessions in the Australian heat. Impromptu performances in parks, along streets, and (much to the eternal annoyance of our fellow travellers) during flights.

I can't remember most of our 'performances' but I'll never forget singing on the steps of the Sydney Opera House.

I've no idea who started it. One moment we were lining up for a photo, the next we had our arms around each other's shoulders as we roared the words to our school song. It seems silly just how much I've cherished that memory but... honestly? Standing there with girls I would spend a month living and eating and playing alongside, excitedly singing until our throats were sore and cheeks ached with the weight of grins, I've never felt more proud. We were singing for nobody but ourselves and for no other reason than the pure joy of it. Though we had already been in Australia for a week, across the country in Perth, that felt like our real entrance.

Here we are, Australia. Hear us roar.

I know, the Sydney Opera House is hardly off the beaten track. Still, though we hung around the Harbour for most of the day, no other group followed our example. Why? Did they not understand how thrilling it was? How full with warmth and pride and affection for each other our chests felt, only to be replaced by the inevitable British embarrassment when we realised people were cheering us?

If you're ever in Sydney, go to the Opera House steps. Suppress any sense of propriety and revel in the ridiculousness. The song doesn't matter - hell, you could pick 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star' - just pick one.

Breathe.

Smile.

Sing.