I have this thing where if I read something in a British accent I go off on “Brit-speak” for the next hour. My husband usually disappears into his workshop and tells me he’ll be back when I “shut my gob.”


“Oy, there, guv’nah! Fancy you some flummery with a spot of plum pudding? ‘Tis been a foine year for plums, a foine year indeed. I was just remarking to Lord Pickleberry the other fortnight how we simply must have Duke Wellingbeef over for a drop of tea and here you are! Sorry to see that you are without the Lady Gogglesworth, be she up the spout again? Ayyyye, Wellingbeef, you scoundrel! You were never a belt and braces sort of fellow but your brood increases year after year. You simply must learn to keep your todger in your knickers. Now, do you take your flummery with clotted cream or pennywhistle codswallop?”


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