Separated by a Common Language

Last week my father in law and I were discussing how best to address someone in an email. We both agreed on dear. "I prefer yo to hi",  I told him. "Even though it's ghetto, I find it funny." He asked me if it was a Yiddish term. My side still hurts from laughing. But despite the language barrier at least we agreed on the use and the pronunciation.

I told the lady behind the counter at the farm shop cafe I wanted a bottle of sparkling water. She said "Wot?" three times before I was forced to clarify my request in an emphatic voice, "a bottel of spaaarkling wohta," using an exagerated English pronunciation rather than a phonetic one. She didn't ask again after that. Only a few minutes later the lady at the flower stand said she couldn't make out my accent and was I American. "I went to school there," I said. But really all I wanted to do was tell her that everyone speaks English nowadays and that considering their country's immigration policies perhaps she and the lady at the cafe should think about enrolling in a hospitality course at the local college.

That the English have anything to say about a mid-Atlantic accent like mine is laughable considering all the ridiculous pronunciations associated with their English, not to mention the incomprehensible Northern accent. For starters they don't say water, they says wohta. They prefer restauran to restaurant and speciality to specialty. I'll give them schedule but that will not make up for Worcester pronouced Wooster or Cholmondely pronounced Chumley.

The most annoying of all is their love of cheers. They're always cheering each other on even when they're not drinking, which is practically never. Cheers here cheers there cheers everywhere.

Well, no cheers for their provincial approach to English. I like my garage just fine, I don't need a garaj. Nor do I need their pudding. I like dessert. I don't mind their supper though I eat dinner. I prefer trucks to lorries and hoods to bonnets. I would rather have a beer than a lager, even though they're the same thing. Of course loo is way better than toilet, but then a lot of people go to the toilet around here. I head for the john whenever I'm not near my bathroom.

Don't even get me onto the cockney rhyming slang. Apparently it was invented by the poor folks to fool the rich folks and somehow Barney Rubble means trouble.

Sometimes I get so confused by l'anglais I need a kip, that means nap. Other times I just get confused and want to throw my toys out of the pram, which means having a temper tantrum.

Believe it or not, the other day I had to explain to one of my writers that no one was going to understand him if he used the word fanny when referring to a man who was not actually gay but preferred women. Apparently here, fanny is the same as a front bottom. Yeah, that's a real keeper. To hell with peepee.

Mr. Cooke and I are often at cross purposes because he is usually up for something when I'm down for it. But despite the confusion neither of us knows what it means when something is mutually exclusive.