The peace of her early childhood was shattered by the entirely predictable arrival of awkward and gawkish hormones. Like many a fine Bristolian teenaager she went entirely off the rails and was suspended from school after the catholic nuns caught her sniffing glue. Floral dresses turned into slashed jeans, flowing locks into a permenant bad hair day. The folk of her childhood replaced by the dulcet tones of Crass, The Exploited and The Clash. A cappella, not widely considered to be part of the punk ethos, also went out of the window, much to the disappointment of her younger siblings who were all keen to do a six part version of The Exploited's 'Sex and Violence'.
After a protracted and troubled adolescence Veronica, much to the confusion of everybody who knew her, sauntered off to University to study Theology - a degree she very nearly finished. The following years were a mish-mash of odd jobs, singing in bands and writing songs, only broken by a brief and ulitmately unsuccesful marriage to a Cornish fisherman.
A chance meeting reconnected her with her acoustic roots and she joined the A Cappella quartet 'The Sweet Soul Sisters'. With the 'Sisters' she travelled the country performing at Glastonbury, Womad and Edinburgh festivals and receiving rave reviews. During this period she fulfilled two life long ambitions. She perforned unaccompanied on Radio 4 Woman's Hour and was given acoustic healing by Rolf Harris through his didgeridoo. Lofty days indeed.
Despite the success of 'The Sweet Soul Sisters' Veronica knew that she was not to be a long term fixture in the group. Following the old adage 'If in doubt, sell all your possessions and get on the first plane to Delhi', she sold all her possessions and got on the first plane to Delhi. Six months later, recovering from dysentry and having just been carried down a mountainside by three Nepalese tour guides she had a revelation - she must return to the UK to study jazz. The next year was spent at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama, dissecting Phrygian Cadences and other small South American rodents. Sadly jazz turned out to be a big disappointment as she realised she just wasn't clever enough.
Bruised and battered she dusted off her trusty steel-string and began to compose songs once more. Something had changed however. Strange dissonances ricocheted across her diatonic folk backdrop. Structures expanded and contracted as if of their own volition. Rhythms reeled and stuttered like crazy fools. Her song writing had undergone a revolution.
For the last year Veronica has slowly been letting the light of day in on her new proud creations. She has become a stalwart (and possibly a narwahl) of the London acoustic scene and is beginning to win people over one by one to her new style. In her brand new line-up, she is currently performing with double bassist, backing vocalist and percussionist.