british language

After eight years living in Britain, I could say “cheers” without thinking about it. “Quid” had only started coming out naturally in the previous couple of months. “You all right?” still made me panic. My British vocabulary was growing, but it wasn’t happening in a tidy order.

In August 2024, I made a tier list of British words and phrases, mostly because I love them and wanted to argue with myself about the best ones. My favourites weren’t always the words I felt comfortable saying. There were some brilliant expressions that still sounded wrong in my Canadian voice, and a few I simply didn’t like.

Cheers eventually stopped sounding strange

Years earlier, I’d wondered whether I should force myself to use the local words. I didn’t want to seem rude or unwilling to fit in, but some of them felt unnatural. Was I supposed to say them anyway, or carry on speaking as I always had and let my language change with time? That was a real conundrum for me.

I ended up saying the words and phrases that came naturally. Over time, those changed. By 2024, I’d been saying “cheers” for a couple of years, and it no longer required a conscious decision. I liked it enough to put it in my top category. “Mate” belonged there too. I’d started using it without irony, which still seemed a weird thing to notice about myself.

“Quid” was a much more recent arrival. I’d only begun using it naturally in the last couple of months. For an example, I imagined looking at a chocolate bar and complaining that it cost three quid. Back in North America, I’d be talking about a candy bar costing a few bucks. Even an ordinary complaint about buying chocolate could show how my words were changing.

“Cuppa” was fun and easy to say. Some expressions started as something I’d say jokingly, then became real parts of my speech. “Chuffed” had also made that move. I used an imaginary supermarket trip to explain it, being pleased that the crisps I wanted were in stock and buying five bags. In my North American version, I’d have been “pumped” to find the chips.

Great words that aren’t for me

“Bloody hell” was an easy favourite because it worked in so many situations. “Gutted” was another top choice, and one I already used naturally. In my example sentence, I’d gone to the chippy and found it shut. Another food-based explanation, apparently I couldn’t help myself.

I liked “blimey”, but I thought it sounded stupid when I said it. “Ta” was a great little alternative to thank you, and my partner used it, yet I didn’t feel ready to say it myself. Maybe that would come in a few years. “Gaff”, meaning a home or house, was another word I couldn’t make feel right, even after eight years here.

Some words didn’t stand much chance of joining my vocabulary because I disliked them. “Pram” annoyed me, and “snog” was terrible. I couldn’t give a particularly satisfying reason for disliking “bird” for a woman either. I was ranking them by how much I liked them, and some of them just annoyed me.

The words that can get awkward

“Fit” had caused awkward situations for me. In my North American understanding, someone fit was healthy or athletic. I could be impressed by someone lifting weights and describe them that way. Here, it could mean attractive. I knew that difference, but it had still caught me out. I wasn’t describing the same thing as the British person hearing me.

“Pissed” had another useful contrast. In the British example I made up, the person spilling beer on my shoes was pissed, meaning drunk. In my North American version, he was wasted and I was pissed, meaning angry. It was the same word doing a different job in two versions of the sentence.

I compared “innit” with the Canadian “eh” because both could be tacked onto a sentence without really asking for an answer. An observation about the hot weather was my example. I still used “innit” when putting on a joking British accent, but I’d also begun saying it without noticing. That was another slightly alarming discovery about how my speech had changed.

You all right? Apparently I still don’t know

The greeting I put low on the list was “You all right?” I understood that someone at a cafe, a delivery person or an acquaintance could use it casually, rather like “What’s up?” or “How’s it going?” They weren’t necessarily asking for my life story. I knew that, and still got flustered.

To my Canadian ear, it sounded like “Are you okay?”, the question someone asks when you look as though you’re about to cry, faint or be sick. Sometimes I’d answer by saying it back, but that felt strange too. Eight years had given me “cheers”, “mate” and even “quid”. It hadn’t made that everyday greeting stop being an embarrassing mess.

Watch The British words I use now, and the greeting that still makes me panic on YouTube.