This month the Jaunty Quills are posting our favorite blogs from the past. I’ve been a member of the JQs since October, so I don’t have *too* many posts to pick from, but this one is definitely my favorite. If you remember seeing it recently, don’t mind me–just enjoy the eye candy.
I have a confession to make: I, Elise Rome, am in love with Great Britain. And I am not ashamed.
When I first learned that Katherine Garbera lives in England, I was beyond jealous.
Confession: I still am.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy living in America.
It’s just that, well… British people have British accents. I know some people like French accents, some Arabic, some Australian, some Latin and so on, but I for one tend to get weak-kneed when I hear a man with a British accent.
Confession: After I graduated high school I was working as a cashier in a supermarket. One day, a man (early 20s, perhaps, modestly attractive) came through my line. I was not affected in the least–he was just another customer in my mind. But then he spoke in a British accent, and you should have seen how red my face turned. I’m sure I stammered, too. Suddenly this mortal man turned to a god in my eyes, simply because of the way he spoke.
I blame this man for making my insides turn to goo whenever I hear a British accent:
And this one:
(Likewise, if you have not seen Richard Armitage in the BBC miniseries North and South, do so immediately. You will understand everything when you hear the voice.)
Sadly, although Mr. Rome earnestly tries to imitate a British accent, it never works. It somehow always comes out as something closer to an Australian accent.
Confession: I think Hugh Jackman is a lovely man. Chris Hemsworth, too. They both have lovely, broad-as-the-sky shoulders. And yet, because they both have Australian accents rather than British ones, neither affects me as much as this man:
Fortunately, Mr. Rome still loves me even though he knows how much I go ga-ga over British men. I know he loves me because he’s agreed to going to England for a future anniversary rather than Italy, which was his first choice. (I have not, as of yet, convinced him to actually move to England… “Think of the castles! The history! The…sheep?”)
By itself, you might think that my love for British accents would be an innocent thing. Not so.
It’s convinced me that all British humor is witty, it would be culturally superior of me to drive on the left side of the road rather than the right, there’s nothing wrong with eating a dessert called “spotted dick”, and that British television shows and movies are generally better than the ones produced in America (Downton Abbey, Sherlock, anyone?).
There may be one saving grace for me despite this obsession, however… Ireland is right next door, and I also love Irish accents. I guess I’ll just have to divide my time between the two.