Becoming Oliver
In recent days I’ve become acquainted with some charming British bugs, germs, viruses, and whatnot, giving me sort of a weak, raspy voice akin to the spawn of Eartha Kitt and Harvey Pekar, if, you know, they were to have a cigar smoking baby. I theorize that when I emerge from this brief bout with an Anglo virus, and my voice returns to its angelic pitch and vibrato, I just very well may have an accent. It’s a sort of metamorphosis; a cultural puberty. Additionally, perhaps because I’ve spent such a wide grasp of my time just, you know, walking ‘round, checking things out, I’ve also found myself with a sore leg and a subtle limp. Someone get me a disheveled orphan’s pathetic top hat. I know, Oliver Twist has neither a sickly voice nor a limp nor a top hat. Tiny Tim would have been much more appropriate.
On Saturdays, Sundays, and maybe Fridays, Vaults and Garden does not give a student discount. Thus, if my patronage finds its way there, I am so inclined to get a small mocha rather than large, where large is, completely sensibly, a Starbucks tall, and small is small, which Starbucks, being American, does not offer. Indeed, small is small. You will, however, be surprised how long a Dixie cup of coffee will last, while you wait for Sainsbury’s to open. Most stores don’t open ‘til 11 on Sundays. The loafers.
These are, I assure you, the real adventures of the English Experience.
Marks and Spencer is a unique thing, if I may say so. For those of you not in the know, which are likely to be most of you, it’s sort of like Macy’s, but with a grocery store. There is an inexplicable appeal to a store which offers suits, sandwiches, sweaters, and milk. However, the self-checkout machine was completely uncooperative with me, or maybe I was fairly incompetent in my usage of it; I attributed it to culture shock and limped my way back here.
At the river’s edge, there sat an old couple on a bench with their dog running about, and on the other side, across perhaps 60 feet of water, there stood some rapscallions. One yelled to the old couple, “’AVE YOU GOT A LIGHT?”
The old man responded, “’OW YOU GON’AH GEH’ IT?”
After a moment’s reflection, the young man pointed to a bridge about half a mile away. Another minute later, he yelled, “CAN YOUR DOG SWIM?”
Finally, inanely, here is a minute of High Street: MP3.
On Saturdays, Sundays, and maybe Fridays, Vaults and Garden does not give a student discount. Thus, if my patronage finds its way there, I am so inclined to get a small mocha rather than large, where large is, completely sensibly, a Starbucks tall, and small is small, which Starbucks, being American, does not offer. Indeed, small is small. You will, however, be surprised how long a Dixie cup of coffee will last, while you wait for Sainsbury’s to open. Most stores don’t open ‘til 11 on Sundays. The loafers.
These are, I assure you, the real adventures of the English Experience.
Marks and Spencer is a unique thing, if I may say so. For those of you not in the know, which are likely to be most of you, it’s sort of like Macy’s, but with a grocery store. There is an inexplicable appeal to a store which offers suits, sandwiches, sweaters, and milk. However, the self-checkout machine was completely uncooperative with me, or maybe I was fairly incompetent in my usage of it; I attributed it to culture shock and limped my way back here.
At the river’s edge, there sat an old couple on a bench with their dog running about, and on the other side, across perhaps 60 feet of water, there stood some rapscallions. One yelled to the old couple, “’AVE YOU GOT A LIGHT?”
The old man responded, “’OW YOU GON’AH GEH’ IT?”
After a moment’s reflection, the young man pointed to a bridge about half a mile away. Another minute later, he yelled, “CAN YOUR DOG SWIM?”
Finally, inanely, here is a minute of High Street: MP3.
posted by Unknown @ 12:37 PM
1 Comments:
At 10/09/2005 9:27 PM,
Anonymous said…
I don't have a dog. but i've seen monkey that smokes. do you think it could swim?
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