I went to the grocery store, and put some prawns, cress, courgettes, rocket, an aubergine, crisps, cling film, biscuits and some mince in my trolley. They didn’t have a loo, so I just went straightaway to the check-out queue (really had to go), and on my way home realized our hob wasn’t working, so I had to get takeaway after all. I need a holiday.
Ok, not a true story. But aren’t you impressed?
The thing about accents is that I can only barely tell the difference between countries, if I’m lucky. We once rode around for an hour with an estate agent, and when Bryan asked where she was from in Australia, I had to pretend all along I didn’t think she was English. Which I did. But it’s kind of nice not making stupid class and educational assumptions when I am speaking to a British person since, to me, the guy that repaired our phone line sounds as elegant as the lady doing the news on BBC.
It turns out a lot of the IT customer service people here are located in Scotland. I have personally experienced it, and it is really hilarious to me. Don’t those tech nerds know that they are supposed to sound like they’re at an Indian call center, or bored in California. Scottish accents are supposed to be reserved for bagpipers and the sexy gay guy delivering the hilarious eulogy in Four Weddings and a Funeral. Get with it Scotland.
When I recently called the customer service line for Newsweek International, the rep in the Netherlands told me I would have to send an email to the office in America. You know how people will help you out by saying “C” for “Charlie,” “B” as in “Boy” etc. when they’re spelling a word in an address. Well, this lady got to “W” and said, “W” is for “Whiskey.” What the-
When I signed up for the gym this week, the English woman setting me up was telling me about how she lived in Italy for 30 years. Since it was at that very moment pouring rain outside, I asked how she could possibly return. “My marriage went pear-shaped” she said. Your marriage and my body, lady.