Friends and relatives back in England often say to me that living in America can't be too bad because at least they speak the same language. I beg to differ. While it is of course "english" in the strictest sense of the word it is "american english" which is a completely different animal. As a prime example I present exhibit "a"



To those in the United States (more particularly in the South) this photograph is simply a boring one of a float in a parade. For those in England who read my blog they will no doubt fall off their chairs laughing after spewing large amounts of tea all over the computer screen. In England "bog" is rather unpleasant slang for the toilet, and telling someone to "bog off" is a way of saying something else without actually using foul language.

Here in the Southern US "bog" is a dish generally made with chicken and rice, and depending on the cook, can be rather tasty (I am not one of those who appreciate whole chickens, skin, bones etc., being thrown in, I prefer mine made by more gentile folk who remove the chicken from the bone.) Southern cooks take great pride in their "bog" being the best, and there are therefore "bog offs" whereby cooks all get together to compete for the best one (a little like a chilli cook off).

Still one has to understand that my Mother (who was visiting for this particular parade) does not know anything about chicken bog, and therefore was quite amused by the sign on the float. It was not however, as funny as the first time she heard them advertising a "shagging" competition.

The longer I have lived here I have of course become used to the language and can often be heard to refer to my handbag as a "purse" (which in England is the money holder which goes inside the handbag, not the handbag itself). I have not, I do not believe ever referred to my purse as a "pocketbook" though, because that just does not make sense. I mean how does that come about? I no longer ask for "half a lager" in a bar, I ask for a "baked potato" (as opposed to a jacket potato) with my dinner and am quite happy to pump gas (instead of petrol) into my car. There are some things though which I have steadfastly refused to change. The place attached to the side of the house which is suppose to store at least one car is not a "gar-ahge" it is, always has been and always will be, a "garrige" (in fact my husband now calls it that). I will not, unless I am dealing with someone if minimal intelligence refer to a "tom-ahto" as a "tom-ayto".

Of course in some instances I had no choice but to modify my language, for instance I learned very quickly that walking into a store and asking for "20 fags" was not acceptable and quickly changed my request to a "pack of cigarettes". Of course the whole language thing is further exacerbated by the fact that I live in North Carolina, which when it comes to accents appears to have a law unto itself. Sometimes I think that I understood people better when I lived in Hong Kong than I do here (but then again I also felt that way the first time I lived in Scotland). Still, my language, or more particularly my accent opens a lot of doors for me, seeing as people over here automatically assume that you are brilliant because you speak like a member of the Royal Family (they also assume because England is so small that we all know each other over there) but as for the language I am often tempted to quote the "Princess Bride" in my encounters with people "I don't think that means what you think it means."