I remember the exact moment I happened to fall in love with all things British.
November 6, 2000.
I was barely ten. And I remember gawking at Hugh Grant and his dimples and twinkly blue eyes as I watched Notting Hill with Mum. Most of all, that accent. (And Ronan Keating’s vocals in the background.)
That’s when the obsession began. Then I grew older and Downton Abbey and The Originals and Penny Dreadful and oh my GOD, SLEEPY HOLLOW happened.
Joseph Morgan and Tom Mison. Oh. My. Effing. Goodness. Whywhywhywhywhywhywhy do they have to be so cute? The way Ichabod Crane says, “One sign of impending apocalpypse is surely skinny jeans.” How can you not die and fall in love all at the same time? And I can’t help thinking how soothing it all sounds. The way that measure each word out, the British, like gourmet stuff. It’s all so balanced and I don’t know, adorable. Gaaaaaah. Whyyyy!!!!!
I also have this friend from when I used to be active on Instagram. And his voice messages are the cutest. Makes me wonder why Indians don’t sound half as good. Not that I fancy my British friend or anything, because my boyfriend is awesomesauce. Just so we are clear.
And did I mention Joseph Morgan is the hottest vampire slash hybrid on the telly, like ever? Uh uh. Beyond hot. Beyond beyond, like Lt. Abbie Mills from Sleepy Hollow would say.
What is it about these accents that make you feel like you’re wrapped in some giant warm and cute blanket made of marshmallows? I think it’s the way they are just… Just. I don’t know. Adorable. Sigh. I’m gonna go watch Sleepy Hollow again. Now. And watch Ichabod Crane protest about taxes on “baked goods.”