british small talk

When I moved from Canada to the UK, I thought speaking English would make this part easy. I knew the language, so surely I’d understand what people were saying to me. It took a shocking amount of time to realise how wrong I was, and after ten years here, “You all right?” still makes me nervous.

Some British habits have become natural without me noticing. Others leave me wondering whether I’ve answered a greeting properly or missed what someone really meant. These are the bits of small talk that have taken me longest to understand, along with a couple I’ve come to love. Most of my experience is in the south of England, so please give the northerners a moment to tell me it’s different where they live.

Watch my video about British small talk on YouTube.

“You all right?” doesn’t need my life story

To me, asking whether someone is all right means you’re concerned about them. Are they okay? Do they look like they’re dying? That is where my brain goes when a British person says it to me, even when they’re just saying hello.

Here, it can be a very noncommittal greeting. They aren’t looking for my life story, and I can say “You all right?” back without providing a detailed answer to the question. I understand that. Doing it still feels weird.

I think part of the problem is my accent. The phrase sounds wrong in my voice, and putting on a fake British accent would just offend everyone. Plenty of other words and habits have rubbed off on me, but this one hasn’t settled in after a decade.

“Sorry”, on the other hand, was easy. Saying sorry when someone bumps into you is familiar territory for a Canadian. I’ve apologised to a mannequin after bumping into it in a shop, so I really can’t criticise anyone else for saying it when they haven’t done anything wrong.

Please just tell me what you mean

The harder adjustment has been understanding criticism that doesn’t sound like criticism. I’ve found that British people often avoid saying what they mean directly, especially when it’s negative. Instead of telling you that the project you’ve been working on is terrible, someone might say, “I can see where you’re going with this.”

That leaves quite a lot for me to work out. I hate confrontation, but I’d still rather someone told me what they meant than leave me sitting at home trying to guess. Even at work, I’ve found myself wondering whether someone’s comment meant what it seemed to mean or whether there was something passive aggressive underneath it.

Quiet doesn’t automatically mean rude

I’ve also had to think differently about talking to strangers. A pub, a dog walk or something happening with the weather can provide an opening, but starting a full conversation with someone you don’t know isn’t always welcome.

Northerners regularly tell me that they’re friendlier than southerners. From my experience living in the south, I don’t think the reserve automatically means people are rude. Starting a conversation can mean imposing on someone who might not want to talk. Leaving them alone can be the polite choice.

When I do need something to say, the weather works. People tell me that’s because it changes so quickly here, but Canada has rapidly changing weather too. I think British people just like talking about it, and that’s okay.

Getting out without making a speech

One of my favourite unwritten habits happens on public transport. If you’re sitting by the window and need to get past the person beside you, you can start gathering your things and rustling your bag. They recognise that you’re getting off and move. You haven’t had to start a conversation or even make eye contact. I love that people know what the rustling means.

Ending an actual conversation has its own little signals. Someone recently called me, had quite a lengthy chat and then said, “I’ll let you go.”

You called me!

But I love it as a way of saying you want to finish the conversation. Then there’s slapping your knees and saying “Right”, perhaps followed by “Well, best be off.” Everyone knows you’re about to leave.

The words that arrive by themselves

I used to think “cheers” would never become my way of saying thank you. To me, it belonged with drinks. Then, after ten years here, I think it was the postie handing me a parcel when I said it without thinking.

I stood there afterwards wondering who I’d become. Normally I still say thank you, and I don’t think you need to force British words into your speech. When one comes out naturally, though, I just let it happen. Apparently “cheers” has made it. “You all right?” is still waiting.