There’s a saying…no, a quote, that I would share with you. Something of a joke and it goes like this: “Giving English to an American is like giving sex to a child. He knows it's important but he doesn't know what to do with it"
- Adam Cooper (19th century)
In my job I deal with a lot of American English, constantly correcting ize to ise wherever I see it and doubling ls. However, it strikes me that the differences between American and British English are much more profound than this. I mean, I understand (and am generally quite sympathetic) when a Yank admits that American is a bastardized English – the spelling does not make that much difference – but if, for example, they were to start flattering me on my new pants I would consider myself to be in a whole heap of trouble – not necessarily only linguistic. And I am not the only one. A recent conversation an Australian girl friend had with a Yank started off innocently enough: on the subject of long-haul flights. “Oh, I just love it,” my friend rhapsodised, “when halfway through the night Qantas bring round Magnums!” This, perfectly acceptable to me (I was nodding in jealous agreement: BA do not provide such service), was apparently met with stunned silence and raised eyebrows by the American in question. “You know,” she continued blissfully ignorant, “I love seeing those shiny wrappers appear from out the darkness. I always get so excited!” I am still in agreement: ice-cream at 2am what could be better? But clearly the American’s mind was running along other lines… Did he think Qantas provided 4.4 firearm cartridges at that hour to its sleep-deprived travellers, or enormous bottles of champagne to celebrate the midpoint on its long haul journey (“Woo hoo, we’ve made it this far without a) crashing, b) being set upon by terrorists armed with handguns and ice-cream, or c) the pilot getting blotto…oops, until now!)? No. None of the above. Magnum, in the US – for all of you who, like me, didn’t know – is a brand of prophylactic. A condom. From the Latin magnus, meaning great. Well, of course! Now it makes sense. Americans are famous for being not exactly shy and retiring, for being encouraged by the likes of Oprah (god love her) to ‘big’ themselves up and, as Blackadder would say, ‘blow their own trumpet’ – if you can possibly excuse the irresistible pun?
But of course, it works all ways and between all nations. While recently demonstrating the art of (mainly rude, it has to be said) Italian hand gestures, a friend added “but of course, it means something very different in India.” What you might use to tell someone to kindly “F* off” in Italy would, apparently, have you inviting them into your house for curry in India. “That’s quite different,” I replied, reminding myself that for every useful lesson you learn, there is always an important footnote to be added and for every rule, an exception. Personally, my difficulty with Australians has always been – again, underwear related – that they will insist on referring to their Havaianas as thongs. “What,” I ask, “do you then call your…well, thong?” “A G-string,” they reply, in a tone that suggests that I, with my onomatopoeic flip-flops (a word bordering on the inanity of whoops-a-daisy), am the idiot. And fair play to them, I have to admit they have that sussed, and they certainly have more call for both flip-flops and thongs in their summery climes. But, I ask them, footie and soccer aren’t the same thing in the land of Oz? In England football, footie, soccer are one and the same: a kick-out, down the park, lads and dads, the beautiful game…We’re all talking about football (EPL style). In the US and Australia, however, you have football and soccer and you are all referring to different games. But such problems, I have come to appreciate, stretch far and wide. So, in a gesture towards greater cross-cultural understanding, I have complied a – by no means exhaustive, but still quite extensive – glossary of some of the English words and phrases that may lead non-British English users into trouble or at least a state of consternation.
I will admit though, before we begin (because the above has so far merely been the prologue to my tale), that this is by no means intended as a guide to formal English usage. These are not the type of phrases I would generally advise my students to use, but rather ones that growing up in my mother’s household – in which, it has to be said, Jesus did most of the sweeping, as well as the occasion weeping – I have long been acquainted with, without ever really stopping to think how completely incomprehensible or bizarre they may be to an outsider. But for a student going away to Winchester, Eton, or even the wilds of Staffordshire and the Peaks – usually on a Duke of Edinburgh weekend assault course (why else venture in the North, ie, north of Watford Gap) – they may find that, having read the following they are better prepared for the semantic hurdles and linguistic buggery that no doubt awaits when, stopping to ask for directions you are told, like my uncle, that “ee, duck, it’s agin Argos”; or a merely curious Anglophile or bemused American may I hope gain some rare glimpse of the nuances that comprise a culture…
But equally, do not be surprised if this farrago of a dictionary is so full of odds, sods, and gubbins that you are left jolly well naffed off and reaching for the booze and fags. Let me reassure you, it is all much of a muchness, six of one and half a dozen of the other, that you shouldn’t let Old Uncle Tom Cobbley get your knickers in a twist but just keep your hair on and Bob’ll soon be your uncle. In which spirit: I wish you happy – nay, over the moon - reading!
Well me ole’ mate - mate, noun, friend: eg, “He’s me mate” and “Ay up mate” - let’s start at the beginning. Ay up, how are ya me old? Meaning, ‘hello good fellow.’ If I knew you very well, of course, I may also call you me ole’ mucker, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. How about we start with a nice cuppa? Pronounced Cup-pah, noun, meaning cup of tea, never coffee. When I was growing up tea came in cups and coffee in mugs, but that was of course back in the days before Starbucks had us all drinking hot milk (with, what’s that, a faint hint of coffee?) out of paper cups. So now you can have a cuppa coffee, but if you just say cuppa on its own I’m afraid we‘ll assume you mean tea. But how about we make this more special? Can I offer you a cream tea? Cream tea: not a hot creamy beverage (eg, Hong Kong style, with condensed milk) but a traditional afternoon tea set consisting of fluffy scones, jam and cream (preferably warm Cornish clotted cream) and (freshly picked, sun-ripened) strawberries if you’re lucky, washed down with lashings of hot tea (with a dash of milk). To which sumptuous offering you would of course reply ta: expression, (and about the first word my niece learnt to say, probably because she knew it won her food) meaning thanks. Well, Cheers! expression, a toast; also thank you; and as in the antiquated greeting what cheer, now more commonly whatcha. Now, that’s the basics sorted. Once you have got those down to a T - expression, meaning perfect or exactly (eg, you can say “it suited her down to a T”) – you will be ready to move on to the next stage: Food.
Aubergine, noun : (US) eggplant; courgette (pron. cor-gyet), n, (US) zucchini
Bubble and squeak, n.: not two cute children’s cartoon characters as you might be forgiven for thinking, but an English dish of left-over mashed potato with green vegetables, such as cabbage, and onion mashed in. Food of the gods or fodda, Old English word still used colloquially in some places, though more restricted to cattle feed and school canteen food
Chalk and cheese, phrase, this may sound like traditional bland English fare but the point of this phrase is that it is two items that are not recommended to be put together; it is, in fact, a phrase that means ‘two things dissimilar that don’t go together’
Butchers, v. (Cockney rhyming slang: Butcher’s hook) look: “Give us a butchers”
Butty, n, sandwich; and Ploughman’s, n, traditional pub sandwich of cheese and pickled onions; which might be eaten with crisps, n, potato chips – only wafer thin; chips are fried, thick potato chips. As children crisp butties were a definite favourite: delicious and nutritious.
Chippie, n, a fish and chip shop; not to be mistaken with the slang term for a carpenter. If crisp butties were weekend lunchtime meals, chip butties were easy Friday night dinnertime meals, stodgy - adj, the definition of English food: filling, heavy, thick – enough to give you heartburn for several hours and possibly reaching for the phrase had his chips: to be finished/done for, eg, after accidentally choking on a carb butty and performing a tracheostomy with a fish knife, you might say he’d had his chips.
Double-decker, n, two-storey bus; also a chocolate bar with two layers – nougat and crispy cereal. Umm…double-decker…
Drinking-up time, n, sad time of the day (used to be 11pm in England) when the local – n, pub or bar nearby that a person normally frequents: “I’m just going down the local” – closes
Elevenses, n, Morning tea or coffee break – a splendiferous thing, eg, “Isn’t it time for Elevenses yet?” In many people’s vocabulary, consisting merely (like breakfast) of a fag, n, cigarette and coffee, but if, like me, you’re from out the shire it’s an opportunity for a second breakfast.
Indian, noun, An Indian restaurant; so if you hear “I’m going the Indian” do not be deceived that they are going to seek the wise Brahmic counsel of the only person from the vast Indian subcontinent living in their English town, but to eat an Anglicised curry at an Indian restaurant
Yorkshire pudding, n, not a dessert; batter baked in the oven and eaten with Sunday roast. And in the pudding club does not mean to be a fan of the Yorkshire or indeed sweet baked goods, but is a phrase meaning to be pregnant; also bun in the oven and up the duff, eg, “She’s dead chuffed she’s up the duff” – as the Angel Gabriel reported back to God on Mary’s feelings on receiving the annunciation: she very happy to be with child.
Lolly, n, boiled sweet or flavoured ice on a stick; from which we get lollypop wo/man, n, road crossing assistant, because they, at least used to, carry a big lollipop-shaped staff to stop traffic with – though, arguably, their presence standing in the middle of the road should (one hopes) serve that purpose too
Milkfloat, n, not a delightful dairy beverage, but the slow-moving electric-motorised vehicle that used to carefully deliver bottles of fresh milk to people’s doorsteps at 4am every morning. Incidentally, growing up there was a boy in our class whose father was a milkman and for some reason that fact instilled as much quiet awe in me as if he’d revealed his dad was in Superman. It seemed that impressive, but FYI the relationship (like the milkfloat) never really got going.
Plonk, n, cheap wine, such as that one might purchase from the offie – abbreviation, off-licence (7/11) – on the way home from the local.
As far as food goes, that about takes the biscuit: phrase, that beats everything. So, lest you’re feeling a bit shagged out, adj, absolutely exhausted and knackered, adj, tired: “I’m bloody knackered I am,” after all that food let’s retire from the dinner table into the drawing room, noun. Let it be noted no one really uses this word anymore, but in case you are reading Austen, no, they are not all unusually into their art; rather they (the women after dinner) are ‘withdrawing’ into the living room to let the men smoke over port (“pass the port”) and politics. I’ll let you decide who is getting the better deal.
And while we are on the subject of rooms, note that in English a restroom is a room for resting in and not a toilet as the Americans have it. Funny story actually on the subject of toilets, or WCs as they have been known in the UK for many a year (water closet – how coy!): in Hong Kong, common usage is to refer to the toilets as the bathroom which, while technically implying that one can bath, shower and shave (soak in a bubbly tub with a book and glass of wine), is I think a reasonable compromise between the American unusually prim rest room and bizarre, out-dated British water closet, and is a Hong Kongism that I have become accustomed to, feeling that it reduces the embarrassment caused on all sides of having to excuse oneself in the middle of dinner by announcing “Everyone, I am going to the toilet,” from which unnecessary images inevitably follow. However, when back in the UK last year, I was in our local library which for some reason (and everyone I’ve spoken to has been of the same opinion) within ten minutes spent in there brings on the acute desire to use the toilet. Well, after many years of having to leave before deciding on which book to borrow, they have acknowledge this universal truth and installed a solution upstairs. But on asking one day for the key – for clearly this is now a sacred and well-guarded room of requirement – to the “bathroom” I received in return only looks of blank bewilderment. After repeating my request a few times in the hushed tones appropriate to a reading room, I realised the error of my ways. “Oh, I mean the toilet,” I cried out rather too loud in a combination of triumph at finally finding the linguistic key to unlock my meaning and my increasingly desperate need to get the key to unlock the toilet room. And bingo! Bob was my uncle. But have I ever found both the words “bathroom” “toilet” more embarrassing? No.
Time’s gathering apace and we must march on with it. So get your togs on – phrase, (outdoor) clothes on – as my mum would say, always wanting to be out walking no matter the weather or how freezing cold. ‘Put your togs on, it’s a bit parky out’ - parky, adj, chilly, cold: “Oo, it’s a bit parky out” (meaning: cold outside) – and where we’re going you’re gonna need some defences against the elements. Oh yes, we’re leaving the cossetted world of the kitchen, dining and bathing rooms behind and going out on the tiles – phrase, on a night out, not to be confused with on the game, another phrase but referring to prostitution: “She’s on the game” – where, in true English pissed up style - pissed, v, drunk, also pissed up; but pissed off means angry – we may be exposed to terms of abuse and content of a sexual nature. Don’t say you’ve not been warned, you muppet!
Muppet, noun, a personal favourite, meaning ‘a stupid person’; e.g. “Oi, you muppet” and “God, what a muppet”; also pillock, n, another great and expressive way of saying someone is an idiot, a useless or stupid person: “You’re a right pillock”; and wally, n, an idiot, someone so dumb he doesn’t even know how dumb he is.
Berk, n, (Cockney rhyming slang: Berkeley Hunt) an undesirable person, e.g. “That George Bush, he’s a bit of a berk!”
Daft, adj, foolish; as in the phrase ‘Daft as a brush’ or the rhyme my mother used to sing: “You’re daft, you’re potty, you’re made of treacle toffee” because that’s not silly mummy! Note that daft is less offensive than berk or pillock – just because the ‘k’ sound in English is harder while the ‘ft’ which is soft.
Naff, adj, means untrendy or uncool; but naff off, phrase, means ‘go away’ and was apparently coined by one of my favourite TV programmes Porridge (meaning, jail-time).
But these can’t really be considered swearwords. They are often playful or mocking – the English being quite a fan of sarcasm and curses the world over (none less than in Cantonese) tending to be quite … colourful. Nice examples of English sarcasm include pigs might fly, phrase, a way to say that something is absurd: “Oh yeah, and pigs might fly”, meaning that whatever it is won’t happen. Queer as a clockwork orange, phrase, means strange: “Ee, thou art as queer as a clock orange” (says he), and another adjectival simile (we love them!) would be to tell someone they’re as much use as a chocolate teapot, meaning not very useful at all. Fun! If these don’t quite cover it though – if you’ve really taken umbrage (offense) to something; if you’ve got the hump – not least, perhaps by now, with the English language in which one word can have at least three different meanings: 1) noun, ridge in the road, lump on a camel’s back; 2) verb, to carry something heavy: “I’ve been humping it around all day,” 3) phrase get the hump, meaning ‘to get annoyed’ as in, a distempered camel; and 3) verb, as a euphemism for sex – then you might want to step it up a grade, with expletives.
Bloody hell (pron. Blud-ee ell), expression: an (mild) expletive, expressing surprise or astonishment, perhaps as when you’ve just come a cropper – a phrase meaning had an accident or something’s ended badly. “Cor blimey, I wor crossing the road when this truck came r’ait at me, and I nearly come a cropper!” In such an instance you might add, “I wor jolly cross I was.” In which case jolly, adverb, means very – not happy. If you are jolly cross, you may well be said to be in a paddy. Another phrase which also means to be angry; and like a paddy field, you can be in one or have one: have a paddy, eg, Every Saturday my little sister (Lord bless her!) would have a paddy in Woolworths if she didn’t get a new Barbie. Yup. And then a smack-bottom, which was the cheaper option. If someone is having a paddy, you might be tempted (but it is generally not advisable) to say: keep your hair on, or don’t get your knickers in a twist, two phrases that are aimed at calming someone in a temper down but which usually have the opposite effect. Keep your pecker up is another cute but annoying phrase used to encourage or cheer someone up; to which you may want to reply (well, bugger off – but also possibly) cobblers! As a noun, cobblers (Cockney rhyming slang: Cobbler’s awl) means testicles, but as an expression it implies nonsense or “What a load of codwallop!”
Another charming euphemism for the male member (not to be confused with honourable members of parliament, though some would say they are just a lot of d*cks too) – as the English would rather not name It if we can avoid It, not when they are so many potentially ridiculous (excuse the pun again) alternatives – is goolies, eg, “Aw ref’, he got me in me goolies.” Sounds rather like a race of Enid Blyton characters doesn’t it? Bum meanwhile can be used to mean borrow, eg, “Can I bum a fag?” and randy is an adjective for horny, hence why the English find Americans with the name Randy so frightfully amusing. Bob-a-job may sound like a euphemism but is simply phrase from back in the days of shillings and pence and means doing a job to raise funds, which I suppose could be appropriate to much of the trade that takes place with ladies of the night in Wan Chai but usually applies more innocently to boy scouts or unemployed window-cleaners.
Moving swiftly on, leaving the obscurities of the night behind and relegating all such ambiguities to drunken dreams and alcoholic amnesia, all that leaves us is to deal with is – appropriately enough – the gubbins: noun, collection of general worthless items. A personal favourite, thanks mainly to the pronounced (in the senses of regular, strongly emphasised and articulated) use my mother always made of this word. Whenever anything needed cleaning, moving or removing it was referred to as gubbins - “What’s this gubbins?” – usually followed, if referring to our clothes, by the interrogation “Clean, dirty or indifferent?” If it was indifferent gubbins, we usually went to school wearing – ie, covered in – it the next day.
Odds and sods is another choice phrase of my mother’s meaning odds and ends, bits and bobs; or in other words, a random collection of stuff. As you’ve probably gathered from this collection of English words so far, references to homosexuality and acts of buggery feature quite highly in spoken English language (I don’t know if odds and sods has this derivation, but…) – a possible reflection of a culture steeped the contradictions of public school fagging and imprisoning gay playwrights? Perhaps it is as my mother would say “Well, there’s two choices” (or more in this day and age, mother) and that, whatever the question the answer you can be sure is, it’s six of one and half a dozen of the other. Growing up this phrase was the stock answer aimed at my sister’s and my protestations and mutual accusations that “she started it!” “Oh,” my mother would exclaim, “you’re as bad as each other; it’s six of one and half a dozen of the other,” usually followed swiftly by “I’ll knock your silly heads together” which had more effect than the seeming incomprehensible mathematic equation, until finally one day – probably around the time of revising for GCSE Maths – I figured it out. Eureka! And, feeling like I’d outsmarted my mother, declared “But they’re the same thing!” to which her reply was “of course,” not seeming to realise then that all those years her homey wisdom had therefore quite failed to reach home. But it’s all swings and roundabouts, as they say, another phrase meaning that it’s all about the same, along with much of a muchness, phrase, recently made familiar by Alice in Wonderland, also meaning equivalent to. Does the preponderance of these synonymous phrases suggest something drab in England and Englishness? That like our food, you cannot tell life apart – one weary day from the next, one grey sky from another, one monotonous street, park, tree or bird? Does it represent apathy or, does it perhaps say something positive about our culture as one of liberal tolerance – that we have so many queers, odds, sods, Old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all (another old (and odd) saying long conveyed to me through my mother’s love of idioms and which is an exhaustive way of expressing ‘and all this/these/those as well’, basically meaning etcetera)? Or is it that having watched a once rich empire fall away and been beaten for years at our own sporting games, we are now left mere to stand, gazing on with resigned detachment before turning away in search of our pipe and slippers, to make a hot cocoa and mumble the quick prayer “It’s all much of a muchness” before falling back to sleep?
So, is Bob your uncle? Phrase, is everything complete?
Yes, I am felicitous to reveal that I have terminated my pre-meditated categorisation of the more esoteric vocabulary of our demotic post-Norman tongue. C'est fini. Merci.
