KITT SERVES TEA

In time gone by, when the semester was still young and finals felt like a lifetime away, when hope was high and life worth living, I dreamed a dream that I would host a thoroughly British Tea Party to celebrate the end of my second year of University. I dreamed that my energy wouldn't die, that my profs would be forgiving. Then I was young and unafraid and blog posts were made and study time wasted. But the finals came at last with their ridiculously-long-essay-questions soft as thunder, and they (almost) tore my hope apart and (almost) turned my dream of a thoroughly British Tea Part to shame. 

I am happy to announce that my exams and last minute assignments did NOT kill the dream I dreamed: at the end of a rather busy semester I summoned to strength to channel my inner hostess-with-the-mostest, pull out the fine china and sashay in the kitchen to the crooning voices of Perry Como and Doris Day. There was a 1950's English Tea Party to host, and this little lady - tired as she might be - was up to the challenge.

When I first had the idea of putting together this little shindig a couple of ago, I had very modest plans. A teapot, a few teacups, a cake, friends. Maybe a table cloth for the occasion, you know? And then Uni got to me. You see, I cope with stress by looking forward to things. Whether it be a new book, a trip to the cinema, or a day out, I like to have a little silver-lining to focus on or an incentive to encourage me when I am feeling worn down. Well, this past semester was pretty darn good at wearing me down. It was my least favourite term so far, I had some classes I was not enjoying, I was having to prepare for the intensity that is third year Fine Art classes - I was altogether lacking in the motivation department. So, when life sends you Shakespeare essays and Psychology exams and mammoth Printing projects, plan a Tea Party. Seriously. Sat in a three-hour night-time Psychology lecture with a rear that's growing increasingly numb? Mentally construct a menu full of the best British sweet treats. Revising in your bedroom for a looming Literature exam? Look up from those notes and imagine the perfect vintage display of your retro bits and bobs. By the time the day of the Tea Party arrived, I had planned a monster of an event that took my family and I a whole day to set up for. 

I invited a small group of my Fine Arts friends from Uni with the request that they get their vintage glad rags on and bring their own teacups. I Union-Jacked the dining area up as much as I could and dug up old photographs of my Grandparents in the 1950's to stick on the walls. I gathered together all of the old British tins and memorabilia I could find and arranged them on the piano in a sort of shrine to the Motherland. My lovely family united to do all of the baking (I am afraid my only contribution was the cupcakes and they were a tad overdone). I found a fifties playlist on YouTube and pressed play, whipped out the red lipstick (hello again, Marilyn!) and with some housewife pearls round my neck, I was ready to go!

At the end of the day, I just enjoyed being with my friends. I feel very blessed to have come to know these lovely ladies this year at Uni. From stressing over deadlines with them to walking through the streets of Manhattan together, these girls have made my University experience so much better. Onwards and upwards into third year, ladies! Hurrah!

~ Menu ~

Victoria Sponge Cake

English Trifle

Scottish Shortbread

English Scones with Whipped Cream and Strawberry Jam

Lemon Drizzle Cake

Chocolate Cupcakes and Fairy Cakes

Smoked Salmon and Cream Cheese Sandwiches 

Cucumber Sandwiches

Fresh Strawberries

A selection of British Teas for the tea-drinkers and Caf-Lib for moi

Fizzy Pink Lemonade

Good Friends

Joyous and Long-Awaited Relief from Schoolwork

Dream the Dream. Host a Tea Party.

Kitty x

(Thank you to Breanna for some of the photographs!)

SPRING-WISHING AND A CHANGE OF SCENERY

I'm craving an English spring and I am posting these photos to prove it. This sunshine-and-green-grass-deprived English lass is currently stuck inside on a cold, soggy day being inundated by weather warnings and reports of imminent freezing rain and snow storms. It is the 11th of April. Snow storms. 11th of April. Snow. April. SnowAprilSnAprowhdfgsjdhgfks ERROR: LUDICROUS CONCEPT NOT FOUND.

I took these pictures at the end of March three years ago, at the village pond by my house in England. It was mating week for the frogs and if I remember correctly I'd taken a walk up to the pond a couple of days before to find giant splashes everywhere and the deafening sounds of froggie mating calls. I'd come back with my camera to see if I could capture some of the craziness (I'd never seen anything like it), but even just a couple of days later the pond was much quieter. I wasn't alone, however: several local school children had come armed with nets and buckets and wellies to go a'frog catching. I got rather snap-happy and, upon discovering these pictures in my photo library this morning, I'm really quite grateful to have this documentation of a beautiful spring day in Hertfordshire. Can you feel that gentle breeze? Can you smell the damp grass? Can you tell I'm going slightly stir-crazy in this never-ending Canadian winter?!?!

I need a change of scenery, and although I'd like it in the form of springtime and I'd like it now, I found out in the last few days that I'll be getting a very literal change of scenery in a few weeks. On Monday I was offered a paid summer internship as a Production Assistant for the Works International Art Festival in Edmonton, Alberta. I had to make a quick decision, and after much discussion and worrying and investigating and help from family and friends, I took a deep breath and said 'Yes' to start on the 3rd of May. Why not? I am not a risk-taker in many respects, and sometimes that probably stops me living.  As anxious as I am to be going off and living on my own in a place I've never been to start my first ever full-time job, I have to see that this is probably a risk worth taking. The past 2.5 years have pushed me unwillingly outside of my comfort zone a lot, so perhaps this is an opportunity for me to take control: I'm outside of my comfort zone again, but this time I stepped out through my own choice. In the first few weeks of being 20 I've been given a chance to really stretch my wings and see what I'm capable of and, despite the nerves and worry and panic of it all, I'm grateful.

Soon I'll be Kitt the Britt moving away from the home away from home. I haven't quite wrapped my head around it all yet - that will come soon enough when I get the mother-daughter crash course in domestic management I'm sure - but I'm excited, if not a little anxious. Maybe the best way to describe my feelings is 'anxcited'.

Well, I wanted a change of scenery, non?

Kitty x

A WORD ABOUT ACCENTS

This week I've been thinking about accents: the way people speak, or more specifically, the way I speak. The more I've thought about my accent, the more conscious I am of it, and so I thought I'd share a few words about my own experience as part of the 'Accent Minority'.

Living in Canada as an English person has made me acutely conscious of what comes out of my mouth. Before I came here I just spoke how I spoke and got on with life, but arriving here I suddenly found out that I have an 'accent'. I have compiled a list of the things I have learnt since becoming a talking freak show. This list might be a little exaggerated here and there, but most of the points are surprisingly accurate. Disclaimer: my tone is tongue-in-cheek, therefore do not take this all seriously. You have been warned.

1) My accent is apparently simultaneously cute, neat, awesome, and a bajillion other things that I was previously unaware of.

2) Sometimes people listen far less to what I say, than how I say it. For example, let's say I'm sorted into a discussion group in my English class. I start the discussion by getting into a 2-minute analytic monologue on Shakespeare's use of language in play X. What do I get in reply? Not a 'yes I agree with you,' or 'no I think you've got the wrong idea' - no, too often the response is 'Oh my gosh I love your accent'. Oh right. Thanks. Um, back to the assignment...

3) I have a British accent. Ignore the fact that there are three different countries in Britain and that each country has innumerable varying dialects. Nope, my accent is most accurately described as 'British'.

4) To continue the previous point, I've been told several times by people that I can't possibly have a 'British' accent because they have a British friend and I sound nothing like him. Upon asking where this friend comes from, the answer is invariably Manchester or Newcastle or Lancaster or York, while I'm from Hertfordshire (just north of London). So basically it's like me telling someone from Texas that they can't be American because they sound nothing like my American friend from Brooklyn. 10 points for logic.

5) Apparently, my accent is a guy magnet. Speaking the way I do means I am bound to have scores of admirers. I am yet to see just one of these legions of lovers. More often than not, I get the reaction of 'Sorry, what did you just say?' when I speak to any unknown male, rather than 'Marry me, English chick'.

6) I am misheard very frequently, to the point of people asking me to repeat myself 3-4 times. Last year in a lecture I answered a question and I kid you not, I said it five times before the girl next to me to took pity on the poor foreigner and repeated what I said in her Canadian accent, and only then did my professor understand. Speaking differently can be mortifying.

7) I have become paranoid about how I speak. Do I say this word funny? Oh no, have I started pronouncing that word with a Canadian accent? Do I sound WEIRD?

8) Saying words like 'rubbish', 'naff', 'brilliant', 'knickers' and 'lovely' will almost certainly produce laughter and mockery.

9) I am apparently also Australian. So many people tell me I can't be British because I sound Australian. I love Aussies, but I sound nothing like one. I had been in a class for 3 months when the professor asked me which part of Australia I was from. No comment.

10) Whatever I say sounds intelligent because of my accent. Of course I don't live by this rule myself, but it is the general consensus amongst classmates. To prove this point, I shall write complete nonsense - 'supercalifragilisticexpialidocious' -  but if I tell you to imagine Mary Poppins saying those words, they of course become literature.

I'm sure this list could go on, but I will end the sarcasm right here. I don't really mind all of this accent-fuss, but every now and then I feel that I need to go home and massage my head with a brick. A couple of good things have emerged from being in the accent minority: I am infinitely more compassionate to others who have different accents and try very hard not to ask them to repeat everything they say; and I have converted eleven-year-old twin girls to the wonders of Harry Potter by reading aloud to them in the Mother tongue.

I leave you with a serious thought:  Listen first and foremost to what people say rather than praising/insulting them for how they say it, for the way someone speaks does not define who he or she is.