The Old Coot tries out a new accent

These thoughts ran through my head and out my pen in 2012. I am still irritated and can’t help but notice the continuation of this invasion from across the pond. And, the fact that media moguls think we are too dumb to notice what’s going on. So, I’m giving it another go. What? You ask. THE BRITISH INVASION OF OUR AIRWAYS!

There are a lot of British accents on TV. It’s an invasion of sorts, like when the Beatles came to America and pushed Elvis aside. More and more of the commentators on news shows have British accents. You never hear them say, “I seen a man get his self arrested in Albany!” They speak the language at a high level. – “Good show, old chap.” – “That was a smashing street demonstration.” It’s the accent that makes everything they say sound credible. 

The people who run TV news programs know this and hire as many people with British accents as they can. They want us to think the newscasters are smarter than us. People with British accents help sustain that myth. 

The accent not only makes reporters and commentators seem smart, it also makes them seem honest and frank, like Simon, when he was on American Idol. He told it like it was. (He’s since softened up, unfortunately.) Eventually, all plain speaking American reporters will be pushed aside and replaced with Brits. The Revolutionary War isn’t over. We won the battle but not the war. It’s still going on. 

I’ve been practicing my British accent, hoping to regain the respect that hasn’t come my way of late. It’s working pretty good. (Oops.) I mean it’s working pretty well. I watch BBC a lot, to learn British sayings and pronunciations. Not all my attempts to speak British have turned out so hot. I asked the clerk in the gas station where the loo was the other day. She said, “Lou doesn’t work on Thursdays.”

That’s okay; I’m in no hurry. I can take my bloody time making the transition. I’m going to try it out and order eggs and bangers with a spot of tea instead of my usual #3. I’m sure the boys at the other end of the counter will start to show me some respect, especially when I get up to leave and turn to them and say, “Cheerio! It’s been jolly good to see you again!” I’ll be the only British old coot in town. Finally, a place of distinction!

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