God Save the Queen

I'm obsessed with the BBC.  No, I'm serious.  I discovered the wonders of British television when I was eight, far too young to be watching a rather risque show which I certainly didn't understand called "Are You Being Served?"  I particularly loved the accents; it just seemed that no matter what was happening on the screen, nothing truly bad could ever happen in a world where people spoke like that.  PBS quickly became my favorite tv station, and these days it is the only broadcast station I watch.  (If I can't stream it from Netflix, I live without it, whatever it is.)  But it took the advent of the internet for my true love affair with the Beeb to begin.

I was sitting in the office of the librarian for whom I worked as an assistant at Indiana University, during my second year as a graduate student, slipping slowly into utter insanity.  The data entry I had been assigned was easily as interesting as watching paint dry, my boss wasn't there that often, and there were no windows not only in our office, but anywhere above the second floor of this 11-story building.  See what I mean?  Since I was working at a computer, I figured the internet had to know of a way that I could save myself from lunacy.  After about an hour of digging--I know, I got paid to surf the web; I do at least feel suitably ashamed of myself--the room seemed suddenly to be filled with choiring angels.  There on the screen in front of me were the words, "BBC Streaming Radio".  Surely, this was too good to be true.  At the last second, the computer would develop facial features, laugh its chips off at me, and point out that I wasn't actually IN the British Isles, and tell me I had a lot of nerve even attempting this.  Except, when I clicked on the magic button, a Real Player window appeared, and the voice of some delightful BBC chick whose name has been lost to history came piping through my earphones, informing me that she would next be playing a comedy show, first aired in the 1960s, called "I'm Sorry, I'll Read That Again".  It was the beginning of a passionate love affair that carries on to this day.

But that's not the end of the story.  Oh, no.  With so many BBC television series available on DVD these days, my collection has grown to truly ridiculous proportions, and I am doing my best to indoctrinate the younger generation as quickly as possible.  In an effort to get my toddler addicted to tv that Mommy DOESN'T mind watching over...and over...and over...and over again, I have introduced her to the BBC's delightful show, "Charlie and Lola," based on the equally wonderful books by Lauren Child.  It chronicles the adventures of 7-year-old Charlie, his 4-year-old sister, Lola, and their imaginative forays into a world that is entirely their own (in the "What do you want to be when you grow up?" sense, not the "Walk through that piece of furniture and find Narnia" sense.)  I am delighted to say that my sweet little SuperToddler not only enjoys Charlie and Lola, not only finds it funny when I imitate the accent for her, but was trying her best to speak with the semi-posh, middle class, London pronunciation of her new playmates tonight.  It was a very proud moment for me as her mother; I swear, I nearly got misty-eyed.