If something like reincarnation exists, I must have been living in Victorian England in one of my previous lives. Around 1900 or so. I don't know, I just love movies and books about that time. E.M.Foster, The Bloomsbury Circle, Jane Austen, you name it. Plus I'm doing my research on 19th centuries autobiographical writings (not only English ones though). Plus I love the fashion: the high empire waist line that had slid around an inch lower by 1900, delicately pressed curls of hair, three-piece suits in beige and black, carnations in button holes, striped neckties, hats with ostrich feathers, pocket watches inherited by grandparents. Changing your attire at least five times a day. To make a call on the local vicar. Tea parties and real lawn tennis. Uptight misses and their chaperones. Doing educational journeys to Italy and Greece to see the arts and culture. Invitations to dinner parties. Piano music played by the daughter of the house. It is just wonderful, I think. Very posh too, of course. Maybe I was British landlord Mr Elisburry, or an aristocratic spinster named Lady Katherine Swanson, a neurotic bourgeois or an eccentric third-rate novelist with the pseudonym Eleonor Devreux or, most probably, a devoted butler called Henry. Which is to say: I guess that time was less funnier if you didn't belong to the upper class.
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