Accent-a-licious

I met the new kiwi at the music school.  He's from Wellington and his accent is heavenly.  Which is a silly thing for me to say because everybody I meet says to me: I just love your accent.  Literally everyone.  Just yesterday I spent half an hour listening to someone go on and on about the British accent, as she had decided mine was British.  And that I must be Australian.   These days I nod and smile.  I used to tell them I loved their accent too.  But they mostly didn't get it: after all, they don't have an accent.  I digress.  

His accent was heavenly and it actually made me homesick. Talking to people in NZ on skype no longer does this to me.  I'm used to being away from them, and they just sound like them, not like a Kiwi.  His was not a familiar voice but an ordinary voice.  I wanted to pack it up in box only to be opened on special occasions but the technology is not yet available and I suppose he has use for his voice. 

I didn't make a particularly good impression on the Kiwi, we barely talked.  I'll have to try again another time.  Maybe I'll get the chance to win him over with my Shepherd's Pie one day.  It should be a good one: the potatoes and beef grown here are supposed to be the best in the world.