The Anchoress
I cannot tell you how much I am enjoying the chronicles of her adventures in England – the language difficulties, the way things explode on her, the way she charitably puts up with British Telephone until she doesn’t, anymore, the the beautiful surprises, the lack of salsa, near curtsies. It’s all brilliant, funny, touching, hopeful and – when she writes about how much she misses her beloved dog, Sunny, even moving.
So I take my bottle of wine to the counter, and the cashier dude (about 25 years old) begins to speak to me, which I’ll be honest with you, felt exactly as if I were standing in the middle of in China with a Chinese cashier dude speaking Chinese to me. I had no everlovin’ clue what this guy was saying except for his beginning and ending words.
British Cashier Dude: “Oy, so you’ve got a fun noyte planned, then?”
Rachel Lucas: “Heh heh, no we’ve just moved here and need to relax, heh heh…”
British Cashier Dude: “Oy, royte, ah diggy hullton shimmy shammy brettfavre jubba meself! Zimmeh fahhah gibbo muffip fob uppim inna choppywebbin! Zjibba, royte?! Ruggles qwerty vussincrispin, so at the end of the day, ya need a drink.”
I shit you not, it was an English-as-a-second-language moment for me. Dude was friendly as hell and I could tell that whatever he was saying was quite likely very funny and completely true, something I could totally get behind in principle and practice. So I grinned like an idiot and nodded my head, “oh yes, um-hmm, right, right on!”
You can spend a very entertaining half-hour or so with Rachel and Rupert and Dame Nowty-Gull. I advise it, anyway. Good for what ails you.
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