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American, Americans, British, Christmas, Coffee, Elevator, England, English, expat, language, Trousers, United States, Village Coffee Morning
[NOTE: updated 26 June 2016]
“Indeed, in many respects, she was quite English, and was an excellent example of the fact that we have really everything in common with America nowadays, except, of course, language.”—Oscar Wilde, The Canterville Ghost, 1887
I used to say I was going to open a coffee shop on an island when I retired. It would, of course, not be a good coffee shop. (I was picturing a Mr. Coffee with some generic grind right out of a can.) That way I would have plenty of time to write trashy novels without constant interruptions er… customers.
A few years ago, we actually made it to the island, although it’s a bit bigger than I expected. We moved into one tower of a medieval castle in England. There was no coffee shop, although a few Wednesdays each month I did take my turn making tea and coffee for that most sacred of institutions, Village Coffee Morning. I couldn’t make the de rigueur scones, but my neighbors were polite about eating the strange American puddings I brought in. (translation: In England, pudding = dessert. Actual American pudding has another name here: baby food.)
Americans sit on their buns, and sometimes their ass, while here in England buns are eaten and one’s sitter is an arse.
Of course, I had to learn a new language. Here pants are something men wear under their trousers. Women might get what they wear underneath—knickers—in a twist if you talk about your pants. In England, a bum goes under your pants or knickers, while in America that activity would certainly get the person going through the dumpster (skip) arrested. Americans sit on their buns, and sometimes their ass, while here in England buns are eaten and one’s sitter is an arse (and, often, one’s political representative as well). Jumpers aren’t just worn by little girls in kindergarten; grown men get them from their Mum at Christmas and have been known to wear them in public (although Americans think they’re wearing sweaters). The signs tacked up everywhere advertising boot sales don’t refer to an unexpected surfeit of footgear, but to things being sold out of the part of the car where Americans would expect to store their spare tire (tyre) and the three bags of old clothing they keep meaning to drop off at the Goodwill.
If you pop (in England you get to pop over to places) into the local shop (no stores here) for a flashlight, you might, as I did, find yourself in the electronics section being offered a flash drive instead of what you came for, a torch. And if you do manage to find the torch section, you’ll put it into your trolley (no shopping carts), along with your jam (jelly = jello) and biscuits (cookies), and then take it on the lift (elevator) to the carpark (parking lot). Before you leave, you return the trolley to ransom the £1 coin you had to fork over to unlock said trolley.
In England, they use a rubber (eraser) to remove a mistake; in America they use a rubber (condom) to prevent one. In America, counting by billions is faster because in England you have to count up a million millions. In America, you’re on the first floor when you come in the door. In the UK, you have to go up one level to get there.
What Americans call soccer, British call football. What Americans call football, British call incomprehensible. And what Americans call a three day match where often nobody wins and where players might wear a box (athletic cup) to protect their goolies (testicles) in case someone bowls a wild googly (god knows…), British revere as cricket.
Although I’m still learning the language, I did get a Mr. Coffee, and I got together with my teenage daughter to produce that first novel, One Way Fare. Since starting this blog, we’ve moved to the Hobbit House in Glasgow, I’ve started learning a foreign language (Glaswegian or Weegie), and published five books. Book #6 will be released later this year, and #7 is in the works. (My Books)
Meanwhile, if you’re going to be in the UK, please look me up. You’ll just need to survive driving on wrong side of the road whilst (you get to say whilst here) shifting with the wrong hand, and roundabouts whose main function is to trap unwary Americans, who have been known to circle that big one just outside of Heathrow until their rental cars run out of petrol (gas). Head north until you see kilts, and stop when you smell the haggis. I’ll put the kettle on and we’ll have a cuppa. Or what the hell… Let’s go and get pissed. [Pissed = drunk in the UK, angry in the US, a normal Saturday night in Scotland…]
Cheers!
Barb said:
I forgot to mention the single greatest British invention of all time: electric water kettles. Brilliant!
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Wes said:
Lets not forget the Beetles, and are you being served. Oh and Lost on Mars…Wes
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Wes said:
Its dark in here. Heloooo..lol I don’t know why, but I think I would fit in quite nicely with the English…Wes
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acewriter13 said:
This article was funny and interesting Barb… I will follow your blog! My great aunt grew up and used to live in England near the White Cliffs of Dover… and whenever I go to her house in Malibu, CA, she uses her electric water kettle to make her morning tea. 🙂
-Ace
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acewriter13 said:
I just typed a reply… but I don’t know if it is going to appear here or not…..?
-Ace
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williamkendall1 said:
A part of the world I want to visit. I wrote a blog a few days back about going for the Three Peaks Challenge in Britain… and that’d be one thing I’d love to do, spending a month or two wandering about…
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Linda Dyer said:
Love it.
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Bastet said:
LOL…Ahhh…the trials of the ex-pat! Brings back memories…
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Charlie Kahn said:
Hi Barb–when we were there I collected roundabouts–the most exotic were the Siamese twin mini-roundabouts in various parts of St Albans and the “magic roundabout” in Hemel Hempstead. Glad to hear you’re thriving–and you are absolutely right about electric kettles
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barbtaub said:
Hi, Charlie — thanks so much for stopping by my blog. My absolute favorite London driving nightmare was the traffic light ‘sculpture’ / American-torturing device at the center of the Westferry roundabout at Canary Wharf. [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Traffic_Light_Tree_Canary_Wharf.jpg] (I think it’s been temporarily removed out of pity for sobbing foreign drivers, but rumor is that it will return…)
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Janis Felidae said:
LOL … as being a German (kitty) who chats a lot on twitter with American, English and Australians, I´ve more than just an airy idea about the confusion the actually same language can cause (and sometimes embarrassment, ohhh well …)
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sandrabranum said:
Thanks for the translations. They sure would have been useful when I wrote my “Crossing Jordan” script for a contest s-o-o long ago. What’s the Brit word for “reblog”?
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barbtaub said:
“Cheers”
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sandrabranum said:
Reblogged this on SandraBranum's Blog and commented:
Need some quick translations for British English?
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barbtaub said:
Thanks so much for the reblog! So exciting because this was my very first post, and I think about three people read it (one of them my mother).
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bearspawprint said:
May I reblog this?
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barbtaub said:
Wow! Thanks so much!
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bearspawprint said:
But may I?
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barbtaub said:
Yes, please! I would be honored.
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bearspawprint said:
Thank you.
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racheve said:
Hi from an English girl in England…. loved this!! You didn’t mention, rubbish, nappies, or toilets!!
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barbtaub said:
My 92-year-old neighbor tells me when we go out that she needs to “spend a penny” — time for the loo! Thanks so much for stopping by.
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bearspawprint said:
Reblogged this on bearspawprint.
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duncanr said:
and what americans call beer, brit’s call ‘rat’s piss’ 😉
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barbtaub said:
[sitting in my corner sipping my Guinness and trying to come up with a snarky response… Nope, I got nothing.]
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susielindau said:
Dang! I was just there! I missed you in your turreted flat…It sounds like a great place to write a novel!
What a great post on language. I too want to write about it. It was so strange to go from Spain and France where they spoke American English to England where I didn’t know what the heck they were saying!
Thanks for bringing this to the party! Have fun clicking on links and saying hello!
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barbtaub said:
And the best part is they never run out of English-talk. Today I learned “the dog’s bollocks”. I *think* that is praise, but it might go the other way…
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susielindau said:
I looked it up in the Urban Dictionary.
In UK slang terms the “dog’s bollocks” means the best. It comes from the habit of male dog’s licking their testicles (bollocks)
So there you go!
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barbtaub said:
Excellent news! I won’t have to change my name and move to a castle in a foreign country. Like Scotland.
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John W. Howell said:
Susie sent me and I always enjoy the differences in American and English. Thanks
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theamateurcamera said:
Hi, Susie sent me… this had me chuckling (laughing) and yes ‘the dog’s bollocks’ does mean something is great! 😉 So what do you use in America to boil water if not an electric kettle!?
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barbtaub said:
Starbucks
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theamateurcamera said:
Hahaha 😀
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julie said:
um…a teapot on the stove? a pan of water on the stove? The microwave? The coffee maker (without the coffee)?? Starbucks is too classy for the mere commoners.
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change it up editing said:
I found you through another blog, and wow, I’m glad I did! I look forward to reading more of your writing.
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AnElephantCant said:
AnElephant apologises for coming so late to the party, but he wrote something similar and admittedly inferior when travelling in the USA last year:
http://anelephantcant.me/2012/12/24/the-same-difference/
He is happy to hear you have upgraded from Englandshire to Scotland!
And thanks you for the very kind words on his e-book.
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Gordon Rottman said:
I recently heard anther European name for American football–girl’s rugby.
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barbtaub said:
Ouch! That’s painful on several levels.
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patriciasands said:
I love it! It’s never too late in life for a new adventure, is it?
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cffullerton said:
Barb, you are spot on! As an American who lived on the western coast of Ireland, I, too, needed a translator more often than not! My favorite was being asked “Are you long here?” and never being quite sure of the appropriate response! I still can’t decide if the intention was to ask if I had been in Ireland long, or if I intended to stay in Ireland long!
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Emily Gmitter said:
Loved this post…great sense of humor! Only one question, did anyone warn the UK about you before you crashed its shores?? They will never be the same! For reference, I am Zoe’s human, she just posted on and reblogged your review of Andrew Joyce’s Molly Lee and she told me about it. She fancies herself a writer and occasionally lets me in on all the good stuff…like your blog. 😉
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Léa said:
Despite the maternal half of my family coming from the UK, tea just just isn’t my drink. My Welsh grandmother is long gone so I can say it out loud. My father’s family all Swedes say that I get that serious coffee addiction from them. Regardless, Un café pour moi s’il vous plâit! As an early reader/writer, my Welsh grandmother and I would write letters. When I began school there was all kinds of scolding as the teachers couldn’t spell cheque, colour… telling me that I was wrong and of course my grandmother wouldn’t lie!
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Shallow Reflections said:
You made me laugh, Barb, and not a lot of writers can do that. I’m fussy about my humor. I watch a lot of British and Aussie TV so I am slowly picking up the language. I think I am ready for at least a visit. As for Scotland….I’d need a translator!
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