I'm an Anglophile. I've read lots of British literature and have been working on the quality of my faux-British accent for decades (it's way better than Madonna's). I love fish and chips and British ale and tea and digestives and the absolutely adorable way that British people are so inappropriately polite. Most of all I love British humor and British accents.
When I'm sick or recovering from surgery as I have been recently, I tend to get all the BBC versions of Jane Austen's novels on DVD and watch them. Jacob came out of his office the other day and asked me if I had been watching an Austen movie.
"Yes. How did you know?" I asked.
"You're speaking with a British accent."
My favorite book of all time is Jane Eyre. I've loved it ever since I read it when I was a kid, and it amazes me how completely different it is every time I read it. My long-suffering husband even read it aloud with me a few months ago, and we had a fabulous time with the vocabulary. I'm positive that Charlotte Bronte made some of those words up.
The latest film adaptation, although a very simplified version, is really lovely. Michael Fassbender is far too attractive to be playing the role of Mr. Rochester, but I didn't mind at all.
I should probably stop watching that movie.
My love of British culture is not limited to Victorian novels, either. I recently started watching the new show Sherlock on Netflix and can recommend it without reservation.
I have been to England. I was there for six weeks back in the mid-90s. The experience taught me several important things:
- There is not enough ice
- British food, by and large, is pretty awful
- Line-dried jeans are crunchy and not okay with me
- You have to be utterly mad to drive in England
That doesn't mean I'm not desperate to go back for another visit. For one thing, I've heard the food has improved considerably. For another, I need to make it up to Scotland this time. Those accents are even better!