My Real Life

As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, I’ve been walking around here, talking with a British accent for the past few weeks.

I love the British.

I do.

First of all, I love the fact that their history goes back so far.

Yes, I live in a historic town and can say “Hey, George Washington may have stood on this exact spot.”

They can say “Yeah, Julius Caesar stood here when he came to conquer.”

Uh…awesome.

Secondly, I love the fact that the Brits are so laid back about so many things.

I know, I know…

The British have a reputation as being sticks in the mud, but I really think that, for the most part, they have a much more relaxed attitude about things than Americans do.

I know it’s a European thing, and not necessarily a British thing, but I like it.

For example, on American television, when there is an interracial or gay relationship, it is discussed and debated to death.

It’s a huge deal.

On British television, no one really cares.

It’s nothing “special” because it’s just life.

Love that.

The Brits have more of a dry sense of humor, and I love that, as well.

Their humor is a bit more cerebral…less in your face, and I appreciate the subtlety.

Also, you never really know what’s going to happen on British tv.

The guy doesn’t always get the girl.

The hero doesn’t always succeed.

You don’t always get the happy ending, and I like that.

Sounds weird, but I appreciate them not pandering to me.

Makes me think a little more.

I don’t think it’s any big surprise that when the US takes British shows and make them American, they aren’t always as funny as their British counterparts.

Some of my favorite shows are British.

Dr. Who, Downton Abbey.

I spent last summer watching British movies on Netflix.

Really, really good stuff.

And maybe, just maybe, I love the British because they aren’t from here.

They are from somewhere I’ve always wanted to go, and have never been, and can’t imagine when I’m actually going to be able to go, and they represent a dream I’ve had since I can remember.