Oh, dear me! My sister has recently put me onto Netflix, and I am so loving it. Yes, I can get some pretty good, pretty current movies through Netflix. And I am a sucker for documentaries of all stripes, so I’ve done quite a bit of learning through those this past week.
But what has really done it for me is the ability to see all my favorite BBC series.
I have rewatched all the Upstairs, Downstairs episodes. I have worked my way through the first series of Downton Abbey, which I had not seen before.
Both of these reawakened my great longing for staff: A parlor maid to keep my house “tidy,” a cook to prepare and serve delicious meals so that I actually have time to “dress for dinner,” and a butler to iron the creases out of my morning newspaper.
Sigh. I love this escape.
I love the smooth evil of Francis Urquhart (so aptly called by his initials “F. U.”, first name pronounced “Fraaahncis”)
(If you haven’t watched this series, by all means give it a go…
And here’s another thing: All this British television is causing me to think like they speak. In my thoughts (please, God, don’t let me actually enunciate this), I find myself using “cahn’t” instead of “can’t” and “ahfter” instead of “after,”" just as Francis or the Butler Hudson would say.
When else but when I am on a British telly streak am I tempted to use the word, “daresay,” as in “I daresay, old chap, I need to go and put a bit of stick about in that courtroom…”
Such jolly fun…I think I’ll go and have a cup of tea and a biscuit…C