Why have none of my friends tied me down and forced me to watch Love Actually? If any of them actually liked me at all, I would have cried like a big fat stupid over this movie like, what, a year ago? Good lord, I just checked IMDB and it came out just shy of TWO years ago, which seems utterly incomprehensible to me, in that I can still remember the commercials quite clearly.
Instead, however, of crying like a big fat stupid TWO YEARS AGO, I cried like a big fat stupid just last night, courtesy of the miracle that is Netflix. To anyone that knows me, it likely comes as little-to-no-surprise that I got all weepy over adorable marriage proposals, precocious children, English accents, and a stirring inspirational speech intended to rouse British pride, complete with stirring inspirational music. Amazingly, though, my roommate sat on the Klaus and cried like a big fat stupid right along with me, which was actually a very nice surprise indeed.
It probably helped that we were taking swigs of Jameson's straight from the bottle, though.
Even if you ignore the movie, I've been in a very Englishy state of mind recently. Since I finished Knife of Dreams last week, I've been flipping back and forth between Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray, and P.G. Wodehouse's Jeeves. The former I can't help but read in half a dreamy trance, and the latter sounds in my head as if I were being read to by Stephen Fry, who's doing all the voices. And abbreviating words enough to make even Krissa blush.