Wednesday, January 29, 2014

I Am Not A Shouty Twat (Most Of The Time)

I never, ever in my life thought I'd actually be asked the stereotypical and absurd question as to when and where I learned to speak English.


But that is what happened to me recently. I would have thought that in this day and age - by which I mean 14 years after I first put a foot down in the US - that sort of ignorantly bizarre question was impossible. But I guess not. It's actually quite frustrating that due to the rather parochial nature of the area I live in that pretty much all knowledge of the UK is gleaned from the most unfortunate sources. Generally from arseholes on US television (Simon Cowell, Gordon Ramsey, Other Shouty Twats) and the dodgy stories about all the sex-crime arrests from BBC employees as reported on US network news. Which I fear means that they're expecting me to go one of the only two ways they imagine British men go - according to US telelvision. Which is deeply sad. When this sort of thing comes up I have quickly tried to interject decent, British men into the conversation. But after naming Daniel Craig and Hugh Laurie (who some didn't know was English at all even though I don't know any British person who thinks his accent in House wasn't crushingly awful) I was met in return by someone naming Gavin Rossdale from lame 90s cheese-rock band Bush. Which disappointed me no end. But then I was left more in a funk because all I could picture rolling around in my mind's eye was footage of Rolf Harris stood behind a wounded pony on Animal Hospital saying to camera, "you'll never guess how this poor little bastard got injured...." whilst leering smugly.

And just for kicks, did I mention this yet? It claims to be a money box shaped like lipstick. My Innocence Alarm went off quite furiously when I saw that.


See. You're thinking it too, right?

No comments:

Post a Comment