How to Get a Lovely Accent by Sitting on your um, “sofa.”

By Donna Drejza

DonnaDrejza.com

It started one Sunday when I was getting ready for Downton Abbey. This involves more than just turning on the telly. It’s like getting ready for a black tie party every Sunday night. Sometimes I polish the silver teapot and china. Other nights, I pour sherry and have Welsh cheese and Branston pickle.  Even Mom has gotten into it; she puts on a fancy satin peignoir, and sips her English liquor from a tiny crystal glass.  Mom has English blood from Yorkshire, so she’s entitled.

So there I was dusting, and dreaming of a night with Charles Blake and Lord Grantham, when it happened: I broke the cable box. Of all days!  It crashed to the floor, shattering the delicate circuits, leaving me with no picture. I would miss Lord Grantham telling Lady Edith she could just go ahead and adopt a child, but Lady Rose would not be permitted to get a radio.  How was I to go on without my Sunday night drama?

Good luck getting a hold of Comcast on a weekend. I considered heading over to the neighboring Fairmont hotel, but knew what could happen. I’d be all set up to watch the latest episode at the bar, and then a bunch of loud men would ask to watch some stupid football game. I couldn’t take this kind of chance. Then I remembered that I could get PBS with a digital antenna. I raced to Best Buy, and in no time, I was back in business with three BBC channels. Soon I was sipping my sherry and wondering how everyone in the Grantham family quickly figures out who Marigold is, but it takes clever Mary an entire season. 

The next morning, while I’m having my poached egg and Marmalade, I flick on the tube and see the most glorious green rolling hills of Ireland. What is this show?  It’s about a bunch of characters having a wedding in an Irish pub, but the groom fails to appear, so they break him off the cake and call it, Hardly a Wedding.  Then next day, the show is about Mr. Quigley, the hapless rich man, who has the most comically lame-brained helpers. The whole town knows everyone’s business, including that the bitchy barmaid, who is in love with the priest, and visa versa. What is this fab show? Finally, I recognize Colin Farrell milking a cow in the background, and figure out it is a show called,  “BallyKissAngel.”

Up until now, I’ve been just watching Downton Abbey, now with my BBC link, I’m hooked on British TV. I think I’m starting to get an English accent. Some days, I find myself saying things like “let’s pop out for pint."  The words, Blimey, Bloody and Bugger-all spill out around the house.  It’s good that no one is around to hear me, as I am probably miss-using the words. Next week, I'm going to start using the word, "Crikey." Once, Lady Edith waited for Mary to spout off her 97 bitchy lines, then replied with, “Crikey” —her only line.

Another show to practice ones accent on is, “As Time Goes By.” Try to emulate Dame Judy Dench, as she and Geoffrey Palmer grow old together in Holland Park. Nothing ever happens to these two; often one hopes that Mrs. Bale, the homely country housekeeper, will kill the neighbors. Still, it’s a soothing show on a rainy day.

Another favorite is Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries.  It’s actually set in 1920’s Australia.  Do not worry that anyone will notice that your fake accent is Australian and not British.  Just keep practicing.  The show stars a very glamorous and outrageous woman who always solves the mystery before the handsome detective. They have a sexual chemistry just like Steed and Mrs. Peel of the Avengers.  He’s always a bit mad at her for breaking all the rules, but at the end of the show they are always having martinis. I think they have sex after the credits roll.

Now recite after me, with your best accent, “Ah, this was how I made it through a dreary winter. Right oh!”

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