Lost In Translation

There is more than just a physical ocean between Canada and the UK. The transatlantic flight will deposit any North American on the shores of a land with deep traditions, bizarre terminology, fervent nationalism and glaring stereotypes. But the differences are more than just a collection of British slang: like loo or WC rather than bathroom or snog and shag rather than fooling around. There is a cultural difference, a subtlety in the mannerisms as well as the terminology, a strict social behaviour, an unofficial code of conduct that is indicative of a very real “Englishness.”

As I was considering this, I happened to pick up a book called “Watching the English: The Hidden Rules of English Behaviour.” Written by a social anthropologist, and a Brit at that, the book sets out to discover the unspoken rules of English behaviour and determine what these rules say about a national identity. The author, Kate Fox, has been researching various aspects of English culture – in pubs, at racecourses, in shops, in nightclubs, on trains and on street corners – for the past 12 years.

The chapters cover off the blatant stereotypes: the weather, humour rules, pub-talk and linguistic class codes. Some would suggest that a book like this would “get beyond the usual stereotypes” of a culture, but Fox points out that this seems to “reflect an assumption that a stereotype is almost by definition ‘not true’” and that “stereotypes about English national character probably contain at least a grain or two of truth.” After nearly six months of living among them, I can tell you that these British stereotypes are almost all true.

I’m not about to start listing the vast scope of English stereotypes. Chances are, most of you are already aware of them. And I won’t be going as deep as Kate Fox in unearthing an English cultural identity. Truth is, I have only just started her book. I might have more to add – and perhaps a second installment on this topic ¬– once I have finished it (or once I’ve moved on to Bill Bryson’s “Notes from a Small Island”).

In the meantime, I wanted to share a few of my own observations about Britain’s unofficial codes of language and show you how easily a Canadian can get lost in translation.

First of all, let’s start with the basics: the vocabulary of the greeting. British people rarely say: How are you? Instead, they ask: Are You Alright? This one really threw me when I first got here. The tone in which the question comes at you implies that you are unwell or that you look poorly. Whenever I heard it in my first few weeks here, my first impulse was to check a mirror to see if there was some sign of damage or sickliness on my face.

In my experience, people do not say Cheerio though they do say Cheers. I have often heard ta to mean thank you. Luckily, no one has been angry enough to tell me to sod off or to call me any of the rather colourful lists of insults listed here: bugger, dodgy, wanker, grotty, plonker, nutter, daft, prat, slag, arsehole, cock-up, manky, pikey. Also, to have red hair and be a ginger is particularly frowned upon here though I haven’t quite figured out the reasoning for this one.

I have, however, had a few odd experiences with the exact opposite. In Britain, complete strangers will address you with rather intimate jargon. While I was working at one of the cafés, the cooks called me baby and babe. I was also addressed as sweetie, sweetheart, love and darling. At first I was kind of pissed off about this misplaced familiarity, until babe came from a very attractive young stockbroker. I also learned for the first time that a man will call a woman a mate, a term I always associated with man-to-man interaction.

When I told the same cute stockbroker about my contract at the magazine, he asked me if I was chuffed about it and I stared blankly back at him. Apparently, the term is a Liverpudlian one that means proud or pleased. The list goes on and on: a cookie is a biscuit, a shirt is a jersey, soccer is football, a stroller is a pushchair, fries are chips and chips are crisps, garbage is rubbish, a hot guy is fit, an apartment is a flat, underwear are knickers, a vacuum is a hoover, a dollar is a quid, a television is a telly, university is uni, a cell phone is a mobile, the subway is the tube, voicemail is an answerphone, the main street is the high street, and drunk driving is drink driving.

There are other words that people back in Canada will be aware of: brolly for umbrella, wellie for rainboots and Mac for a raincoat. No surprise here that these all tie in with that stereotypical English weather. Food also has its own slang vocabulary: bangers and mash are sausages and mashed potatoes, a bap is a soft bread roll, a butty is a sandwich, a sandwich is a sarnie, nosh is food in general, and aubergines and courgettes are eggplants and zucchinis.

I have been on the piss, or drunk, which is also called rat-arsed and squiffy. When you sleep in after one of these nights, you are having a lie in. You can proclaim bloody hell, blimey, bollocks or be buggered. If you are trying to figure out a problem, you are sussing it out. If you are teasing someone, you are taking the piss. Instead of telling someone to take their chances, you tell them to suck it and see. (Not too sure about this one.) People dress up for Halloween, a new holiday (or hols) over here, in fancy dress. To hit the beach, they change into their swimming costumes (or cozies). Though belonging to a distinct generation, some people will tell you they are off to spend a penny when they go to the toilet.

I could go on and on, but the bottom line is: a Canadian could get quite confused over here. And this one certainly has. However, as the months pass by, I am starting to figure it all out and even to adapt the stereotypical slang into my own vocabulary. You will never hear me say ta, I guarantee that, but I can’t promise that I won’t come home calling my iPhone my mobile, some guy a bloke or my favourite vegetable an aubergine. The thing is: If you can’t beat them you just have to join them.