Bread and sandwiches
Daughter: How about we watch Bread and Sandwiches tonight?
Me: Watch what?
Daughter: You know, Prime and Privethedge!
Me: Oh. You mean Pride and Prejudice.
Daughter: Yes. That's what I said.
My daughter was talking about the BBC adaptation of the Jane Austen novel — the one with Colin Firth in it. I'd been watching it one evening while doing the ironing, and my daughter had come in and become engrossed. We'd never watched all six episodes together.
Daughter: I love that woman — the one who shouts and talks about her poor nerves.
Me: You mean Mrs Bennet.
Daughter: Yes. And I like the drunk man.
Me: The drunk man?
Daughter: He's always lying around on sofas.
So we made ourselves comfortable and started to watch. Whenever Mrs Bennet said something like, "You have no compassion on my poor nerves!" my ten-year-old daughter would giggle. "I want to be an actress!" she said.
She spotted Mr Hurst, slumped in a corner at a ball. "There he is. There's that drunk man."
"That must have been an easy job," I said. "All the actor had to do was sit, or lie around, and he didn't even have to learn any lines. He never says anything."
"He does," said my daughter.
We managed to watch two episodes on Saturday evening, and it wasn't easy to persuade my daughter to go to bed and wait until the next day to continue watching. She really enjoyed the language and would repeat old-fashioned expressions with delight. "Make haste! Make haste!" she said, as we got ready for bed.
The next day, we sat down to watch the next episode or four. At one point, my daughter got up to make some crackers and cheese. Although she couldn't see the television from the kitchen, she was obviously still listening intently.
"Did Mrs Bennet just say, 'Fetch my smelly socks'?"
I laughed. "No! She said, 'Fetch my smelling salts!'"