SSC: The voice
As a linguist, I know that no particularly way of pronouncing English is inherently superior to any other. As a person, however, I am so totally gay for certain accents. Particularly certain British accents. Is the result of early and prolonged exposure to Masterpiece Theatre? Of too many viewings of Another Country and Maurice during the impressionable years of puberty?
Whatever the reasons, we had a visiting prof from London stop by the front desk today and make me his bitch with the first words that came out of his mouth. It wasn't just his plummy Basil Rathbone Home Counties accent, it was the whole twee, well-mannered, self-effacing, quinquagenarian Hugh Grant package it was wrapped in. I must've spent a fifth of my shift trying to impress him with my knowledge of the ins and outs of our institution. (Backfired a bit when I forgot how to spell "O'Faoláin".) It was a surprisingly busy day, so this meant having to deal summarily with various minor interruptions. "What do you want? Down the hall and on your left! Now, as I was saying, sir..."
For my pains I was rewarded with a lot of charming twinkles and a some amusing comparisons to the British Library. He recalled perusing Fanny Hill in their reading room several decades ago and having the custodians pass by at regular intervals, presumably to ensure he wasn't getting too excited. "I don't know if they had concealed water pistols to cool me off if I was getting too overheated or what." I swear, one or two more anecdotes like that, and I'd be begging my bosses for time off to pick up his dry cleaning. Limey bastards and their hypnotic powers of speech!
Whatever the reasons, we had a visiting prof from London stop by the front desk today and make me his bitch with the first words that came out of his mouth. It wasn't just his plummy Basil Rathbone Home Counties accent, it was the whole twee, well-mannered, self-effacing, quinquagenarian Hugh Grant package it was wrapped in. I must've spent a fifth of my shift trying to impress him with my knowledge of the ins and outs of our institution. (Backfired a bit when I forgot how to spell "O'Faoláin".) It was a surprisingly busy day, so this meant having to deal summarily with various minor interruptions. "What do you want? Down the hall and on your left! Now, as I was saying, sir..."
For my pains I was rewarded with a lot of charming twinkles and a some amusing comparisons to the British Library. He recalled perusing Fanny Hill in their reading room several decades ago and having the custodians pass by at regular intervals, presumably to ensure he wasn't getting too excited. "I don't know if they had concealed water pistols to cool me off if I was getting too overheated or what." I swear, one or two more anecdotes like that, and I'd be begging my bosses for time off to pick up his dry cleaning. Limey bastards and their hypnotic powers of speech!