The 'Britionary'

Note to self: When talking to American friends/colleagues, never, EVER say: “I’m just popping out for a fag…”

While my English friends will understand the true meaning of this sentence, people here will take an entirely different meaning from it.

And believe me, it’s not good.

Not a day passes when I – as a Brit – seem to say something which is deemed to be a). ridiculous; b). hilarious; or c). just plain weird.

For the past nine months living and working here in San Diego I’ve been a constant source of entertainment – which probably explains why I’m on TV.

Language is the very glue which holds society together.

Without it, things break down, so you have to adjust.

And I, hosting not one but two TV shows to an American audience, have had to adapt to survive.

It’s no good looking the part if no-one actually understands you right?

I must admit, I rarely get recognized out and about in San Diego but when I do those people often say something along the lines of “that’s that guy on the TV that talks weird...”

I can’t tell you how annoying it is, day-after-day, to be told that the way I talk, write or spell is “wrong”.

I’m a journalist – an award-winning one at that. I’ve been writing articles for like 16 years so I’m used to having my copy edited for print.

I’m not ‘wrong’ in the way I communicate, I just do so differently.

And I’m not just talking about the way I communicate in work. It’s at the supermarket, it’s in the phone store, it’s on the bus, it’s in a bar or in a Subway. It’s everywhere.

Sometimes I feel like pointing out that the ‘English’ language originally came from… (I’ll give you a clue – it wasn’t Mississippi).

But then of course I’d come across as being a typical Englishman thinking I’m better than the rest.

*swimming against the tide here pal.
Anyhow, like I said... I've had to adapt and incorporate certain 'Americanisms' into my own language.
So if you do notice me stumbling from time to time while reading the news, you'll understand that it's because I'm saying words I've never said before, in an order I've never said them!

It seems even my keyboard which I’m typing this very blog on, is against me.

With each new sentence or word it wants to correct me because it thinks the English words I’m writing are meant to be spelt in the American-English way.

Grr.

Living and working in the U.S. is just not easy for a foreigner.

The British and the Americans are very similar, but we’re very different at the same time.

Everything I’ve ever known is almost the same… it’s just called something different or it’s labeled differently.

Here they have ‘T.J. Maxx’, not ‘TK Maxx’ as we know it.
'Nike' is pronounced 'Nikee'.

Firefighters ‘put down’ flames rather than ‘put them out’.
A house isn't 'burgled' here, it's 'burglarised'.
'Bangs' is a 'fringe' (as in hair).
A 'gas station' is the equivalent of our 'petrol station'.

An 'ATM' is a cash machine. 'ATM' is also... oh... never mind.
A 'cell phone' is a 'mobile phone'.
The date is written in a way that has the month FIRST rather than the actual day's date.
More often than not the Americans seem to pronounce them ‘vee-hickles’ rather than simply ‘vehicles’.

The term ‘scrummage’ in rugby is called ‘scrimmage’ in American football.

A hashtag, or ‘#’, is known as the ‘pound sign’ when of course we British know the ‘pound sign’ as being !@#$%^&*()_ - nope, my keyboard doesn’t actually have the pound sign installed as a key.

Another thing I’ve learned about our U.S. cousins is that they simply don’t understand the concept of ‘mushy’ peas.

“So… they are peas that have been flattened and ‘mushed’ up right?”

Um, yes… I guess.

“Why not just buy normal peas and flatten them with a fork?”

They’re not the same.

“Why?”

You know, I just don’t know.

In the States people also measure weight in pounds.

This led to a rather bizarre, but funny, conversation last month when someone asked me what we British weigh ourselves in.

“Stones,” I said.

“You actually weigh yourselves in STONES?!”

Er… not the stones you’re thinking of mate… we have progressed a little since the Stone Age.

I can imagine that the move to the States a few years ago suited David Beckham more than most as he never really had a grip on the English language in the first place...

Oof.

"Our problem is our ignorance," an American colleague told me.

"Living in the 'United States of America' we don’t really need to adapt. Generally we all talk the same… We're just not really used to looking anywhere else but within.

"We don't generally deal with anyone else. And that makes us ignorant."

We laughed and joked about it, but he's ultimately right.

And the same can be said for the English.

In one of his celebrated shows the British comedian, Eddie Izzard, made light of the fact that the English are known to travel abroad to places like Spain and France and simply talk ‘English’ expecting the local people to understand and reply.

Of course when the local people don’t understand, the English response is typically “well, you’re just not trying are you…?”

In a bid poke a little fun at my own expense, and to educate a few people over here, I invented the ‘Britionary’ a little while ago.

We did a whole series of them on U-T TV.

Here are a few:
- www.youtube.com/watch?v=znjs_lkw_Ho
- www.youtube.com/watch?v=hSF_8110DQU
- www.youtube.com/watch?v=d6De7kWlIEk
- www.youtube.com/watch?v=wR7kpqlQZBE

As frustrating as this language barrier can be, it is - like I said - a constant source of amusement as I and my American pals learn from each other.

There is also no end to banter, especially after a few drinks.

Cheers!

Or Salute!

Or bottoms up!

Or whatever the hell it's referred to here.

Happy new year everyone.

Twitter: @tristan_nichols

Fright Night

YOU know that horrible moment when you turn up at a party only to realise that you ‘didn’t get the memo’ regarding dress-code?

Yeh… THAT.

That was last night.

Picture the scene… Jacks and I walk past the man bizarrely dressed as Cleopatra in the apartment complex hallway, past the pumpkins and cobwebs laid out on the furniture, and enter the lift (sorry elevator) to head upstairs to the party.

We get to the apartment, I knock on the door, and the hostess answers.

“What are you guys supposed to be…?” she asks as she eyes Jacks and I up and down noting our almost-matching black leather jackets.

“Dead bikers…?!”

There she stands in blonde wig, moustache, vest and jean hot pants (she was Seann William Scott’s character from Old School with her boyfriend made up as Will Ferrell as ‘Frank The Tank’ – complete with dart in his neck).

Awkward…

You see earlier this week the party hostess – who is also one of the U-T TV hosts – asked if Jacks and I wanted to come to a party at her and her boyfriends’ apartment.

“Is it fancy dress?” I remember asking.

“No… it’s not fancy dress at all,” she replied.

Of course, I now realize that ‘fancy dress’ isn’t the ‘fancy dress’ that us Brits know, and refer to.

‘Fancy dress’ in the U.S. refers to ‘fancy’ dress – as in smart wear like a tuxedo.

What I should have asked is it ‘costume?’ – because that’s how they refer to our ‘fancy dress’ here in the great U S of A.

Epic fail.

Just to add to the hilarity, when we woke up yesterday on the morning of the party I suggested we go to a fancy dress shop and grab some fake blood and vampire teeth – but then backtracked thinking that we’d be the “odd ones out”.

“How stupid would we look if we rocked up all dressed up and no-one else was…?” I pondered.

*face palm*

So anyway, there we found ourselves, surrounded by dozens of excited costumed party people.

Talk about odd ones out.

Odd one out...

Doh!

Even another guy from work, who didn't really make an effort, still wore a T-shirt with skulls on just to fit in.

Yep, we’re still just as lost in translation as we ever have been here in San Diego. And I can’t even rely on my wife to help out as she’s just as lost as me in the language.

Oh well, it gives me something to write about.

And it gives you all something to laugh about… albeit at my/our own expense.

Tsk.

Fancy dress or night my wife still looks amazing

If there's one thing more scary than Halloween itself, it's the American fascination with it.

It was a pretty strange sight to be stood in the supermarket aisle next to the Phantom of the Opera, and his witch girlfriend.

Even the Phantom of the Opera has to shop right?

It was another weird moment to be stood outside checking my emails, only to be asked for a light by a mummy fully-dressed head to toe in bandages.

Even pets here can’t escape the madness.

Pet cemetery

Clearly not amused

Sure, as a student I dressed up as a vampire or zombie and went to parties in the UK but here… well, it’s another level.

Jacks and I are gearing up for the army invasion of sweet-toothed trick-or-treaters expected on the 31^st.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the idea of it.

Someone told us last night that after New Year’s Eve, Halloween is the biggest fancy dress, sorry… ‘costume’ night of the year.

And who needs an excuse for a party right?

I just can’t get my head around it just yet.

The premise of Halloween is ghouls and ghosts right? As in ‘All Hallows’ Eve?’

It’ just that Halloween just doesn’t seem scary when you’re living in a place which is so ‘new’.

I joke to people that I have cutlery at home which is older than San Diego.

It seems that Hollywood has made Halloween the big deal it is here.

Some of the weirdo tramps who shout random things at you on the train are the scariest thing about this place.

Downtown’s ‘Haunted Hotel’…? Give me a break. The décor appears to be the scariest thing about it. That, and the price of admission.

Pumpkins are synonymous with the autumn or ‘Fall’ in the U.S.

It seems that you can’t go anywhere at the minute without seeing them.

Pumpkin patch

Outside most stores here there seems to be a stand selling pumpkins or other weird vegetable/fruit thing which looks like it was grown on Mars.

Space fruit?

Yep, your guess is as good as mine...

Starbucks are also serving ‘pumpkin lattes’, which I just can’t bring myself to try.

Are they on sale in the UK too?

Halloween of course falls at the end of October – a time of year when, back at home in the UK, I’ve packed away all the shorts and T-shirts and unpacked the hoodies and jumpers.

However here, even the coolest day yet in San Diego has felt like a pleasant English summer day.

But all I hear from people here is how “cold” it is.

One colleague told me last week she was “so cold” she had the heater on all night.

That’s when the temperature didn’t actually drop below 54 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Centigrade).

I’m still parading around town wearing shorts and T-shirts like I would in the height of summer in Cornwall.

And there I am passing people wearing full-on North Face coats complete with hats and scarves.

Weird.

You know it takes time to settle into a new place and I guess we’re still finding our feet – even after six months.

Next year you can be sure that we won’t make the same mistake again of not dressing up for Halloween.

We’re planning it now.

Be afraid… be very… afraid.

@tristan_nichols