THE RETURN OF HUGH GRANT

This will probably be a more frequent thing, but I had to have an in-depth conversation with an American on the telephone today.

I’ve never met an American I didn’t like. It’s hard not to make sweeping statements, because there are undoubtedly some out there who would be harder to get along with; yes, there are a lot of British people like that too. But with the sample of US citizens I currently have in my data banks, Americans come out as very likeable indeed.

What I mean (I think) is that sort of open, youthful, expansive attitude to life. Everything’s super awesome, sunny, and hopeful, and the cynicism of rainy grey days is like a foreign language. I really love that.

What I didn’t love today though, was the feeling that tiny foibles in my pattern of speech might sound accidentally rude without me knowing about it.

I had turned into Hugh Grant on the phone, interspersing everything with a flustered ‘oh golly, gosh, yes, crumbs, wowee’ (I mean who says ‘woweee’?) All the while my brain spinning into thinking things like: ‘it’s a phone, you give people a call, not a ring, don’t say fortnight, stress the first syllable, and just relax will you, you old buffoon.’

... none of which was helpful. At the end, while my accent was veering dangerously close to quick-speaking, Elgar-scale pompous, she signed off with, ‘have a great rest of your morning!’ and then corrected herself to adjust to my time zone. Hugh Grant replied, ‘and yourself!’ and then ended the call.

That’s okay isn’t it? I mean, I’m just being paranoid, right? Golly.

I remembered a conversation I had once with a colleague, a USA-chanting fan of all things Americana who lived with his mum in Hemel Hempstead. He sat in a cold pub and told me over a pint of cider about the doors my Home Counties accent might open for me in the land of the free. “They love a proper British accent, Matt, they love it!” He may as well have actually said, ‘nudge nudge, wink, wink.’ I ignored him.

I think it went okay, anyway. I hope so - and perhaps she’ll forgive the Hugh Grant foibles and odd way of speaking as the stammer of the nervous Englishman out of his comfort zone. Perhaps next time I should aim for Dick Van Dyke in the hope that my accent will correct itself and land somewhere normal between Bert and Hugh. Though I don’t want it to go too far:

“Technicle woiting you say, Mary Pawpins? Blimey Oi’ve sure got some oideas abouts how to do that, and no mistoike.”