Since I still use my American bank, I seldom interact with the British banking system. Today, however, I needed cash so I visited a Barclay’s bank “cashpoint. (Note to British readers: In America this is known as an ATM for Automatic Tiller Machine, or, as my uncle calls it a Magic Money Machine). Apparently I haven’t used a Barclay’s cashpoint before, because after choosing to withdraw cash, the machine asked if I wanted an advice slip. This was a new phrase for me.
An advice slip? It had to be the same as a receipt, I figured, about to push the button, since I always collect receipts for automatic transactions. But then I hesitated. What if “advice slip” was really some sort of clever marketing ploy. By pressing “advice slip,” was I inadvertently signing myself up for some kind of personal banking scheme?
What if the machine had retrieved full access to my accounts once I slipped in my card, and, using some sort of cruel algorithm blind to the plight of an overseas volunteer living with a not-very-friendly-exchange rate, had determined that my outgoings far exceeded my incomings and I was in desperate need of financial advice? Perhaps the slip would read, “You are an economic fool. We are putting a temporary freeze on your bank card until you sign up for one of our excellent savings plans. A bank manager will ring you shortly.”
The other day I struggled to understand a little newspaper article that was all about quangos. Yes, quangos. I read the item carefully, looking for a definition but never found one. Was this some strange sort of fruit, perhaps a cross between a kumquat and a mango? But if so, then why would the British government be promising the end to so many fruit hybrids? There was nobody around to ask, but then I remembered my copy of "Knickers in a Twist: A Dictionary of British Slang," given me by a kind English expat back in Chicago who foresaw this kind of confusion.
I quickly discovered that a quango (or QUANGO) is a quasi-autonomous non-governmental organization. Kinda like our NGOs, I guess. According to Jonathan Bernstein, author of "Knickers in a Twist," quangos, "generally have titles that suggest they have something to do with housing or transport or health but, in fact, their main function is to perpetuate bureaucracy. The cynical may suggest that these committees and agencies exist solely to reward close but otherwise unemployable associates of the political party in power."
If you remember one thing about clothing word differences in England, remember this: It's not pants, it's trousers!!!
If you say "pants" to a Brit, they think underwear, because that's what the word "pants" means over here. Therefore, statements by innocent Americans such as, "If I'd known how warm it was going to be outside today, I wouldn't have worn pants under my dress," provide much fodder for amusement around here. This also explains why the now classic Wallace and Gromit film is called "The Wrong Trousers." Were it called "The Wrong Pants," the meaning would be very different, indeed.
Other differences between American English and British English (with the American usage put first): tank top/undershirt = vest
vest = waistcoat
suspenders = braces
sweater = jumper
tennis shoes/sneakers = trainers
swimsuit/bathing suit = swimming costume/cozzie/swimming kit
onesie = baby grow
I submit the following two paragraphs for grammatic and vocabulary comparison. It's amazing how many small differences there are in language.
How I would tell the story of today's shopping errand back in Chicago:
"I drove to the local produce market and bought zucchinis for spaghetti, though I couldn't find any eggplants. I know eggplants aren't supposed to go into spaghetti sauce, but they're one of my favorite fruits (or are they veggies?) and I'd add them anyway. I didn't get any whole grain noodles, though, since I already have some in the pantry. Of course, it'd be better to use fresh tomatoes, but all I have now is canned."
How I would tell the story of today's shopping errand here in Nottingham:
"I walked to the greengrocer and bought courgettes for spaghetti bolognese, though I couldn't find any aubergines. I know aubergines aren't meant to go in spaghetti bolognese, but they're one of my favorite fruits (or are they veg?) and I'd add them anyway. I didn't get any wholewheat pasta (pasta rhymes with casta, as in castanet), though, since I already have some in the cupboard. Of course, it'd be better to use fresh tomahtoes, but all I have now is tinned."
Yesterday's conversations, as you can imagine, were all about the earthquake. "Did you feel it? Were you scared? What did you think it was, at first? Did anything fall off the shelf in your house?" and etc.
The most surreal part of the day for me, though, (excepting those very terrifying few moments at 1 a.m.) was when I was sharing with a group of friends that I was convinced it was a tornado. I received a few nods but nobody said anything and, as I continued with my story, Jennie interrupted me with a question.
"What is a tornado, exactly? Is it like a hurricane? What's the difference?"
Tonight I was listening in as a husband and wife scheduled dates in their diaries (calendars) and when an event was proposed on March 2, the wife said, "That's Mothering Sunday. I never schedule anything then."
"What," I inquired, "is Mothering Sunday?"
"It's like our version of Mother's Day," I was told.
In fact, that's not quite true. According to the BBC, Mothering Sunday originally marked the day in Lent when Christians returned to their home or "mother" church for a special service. However, it then became associated with family reunions and today, Brits use it as occasion to celebrate their mums, just as Americans do.
The other day I was chatting with my English friends and mentioned how I'd visited the pool at a leisure center with some of them. Suddenly, a chorus of voices broke out:
"A what center?" they asked. I sighed. I knew what was coming.
"A leisure center," I said, pronouncing it to rhyme with "seizure."
"Steph, it's a leisure center," they said, pronouncing it to rhyme with "measure."
"Hey, be glad I say lee-sure" I said, defensively. "If I were from rural America, I might say lay-sure."
