Happy Anglophenia Week

Raise your hand if you are pathetically and unashamedly obsessed with English things. And Scottish. And Irish. And Welsh.

That’s what I thought, you sodding fantastic anglophiles. And that’s why this week’s posts will be dedicated to our lovely friends across the pond. Grab your mug of Earl Grey and close your doors, because there might be a lot of happy squealing involved.

Let’s begin by rating our obsessions on a scale of 1-10. If the word “British” calls to mind pasty creatures with bad teeth, thin lips, and no eyebrows, you’re a one. If the word “British” makes you irrationally excited, and you start jumping/shrieking/terrifying all passers-by within 25 feet, you’re a ten.

Agh, I am so embarrassed.

… I refuse to rate myself based on my reaction when I heard about David Tennant’s return to Doctor Who.

Because it definitely didn’t involve me displaying any of the symptoms listed above. Nope.

Of course, that situation never happened when I was at work. While working. At the front desk.

And there most certainly was not a line of customers stretching along three walls.

Can I just bury my head in a hole and never come out again? It’s a miracle I wasn’t fired.

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