#englishes

airplane - aeroplane

apartment - flat

apartment building - block of flats

arugula - rocket

ATM - cashpoint/cash machine

attendance, take - register, take the

baby crib - cot

bachelor party - stag do

bachelorette party - hen do

bandaid - plaster

bangs - fringe

barf (verb) - chunder (verb)

bathrobe/robe - dressing gown

bathroom/restroom - loo (slang)

bathroom/washroom - toilet/bathroom

bathtub - bath

beets - beetroot

bell pepper - pepper/sweet pepper

Bic - biro

blinds - curtains

blood sausage/boudin noir - black pudding

broil (verb) - grill (verb)

bus - coach

camper van/RV - caravan

can - tin

candy - sweets

caravan - convoy

caregiver - carer

cart - trolley

cash register - till

checkers - draughts

checking account - current account

chic/classy/fancy - posh

closet - wardrobe

co-education/co-ed - mixed school

coach class - economy class

comforter - duvet

cookie - biscuit

corn - maize

corn starch - cornflour

cotton swab/Q-tip - cotton bud

couch - sittee

counterclockwise - anticlockwise

CPA (Certified Public Accountant) - Chartered Accountant

crosswalk - zebra crossing

custom-made - bespoke

diaper - nappy

downtown - city centre

eggplant - aubergine

elevator - lift

eraser - rubber

exclamation point - exclamation mark

expensive - dear

faculty member - academic staff

fall - autumn

faucet - tap

fire truck - fire engine

first floor - ground floor

fish sticks - fish fingers

flan (=sweet soft food) - flan (=fruit cake, not sweet)

flashlight - torch

flyby - flypast

freeway/highway - motorway

french fries - chips

French press - cafetiere

front desk - reception

furnace - central heating boiler

garbage can - dustbin

garbage collector - binman

gas/gasoline - petrol

gearshift - gearstick

grade - mark

green onion/scallion - spring onion

grocery store - grocery shop

ground beef - minced meat

ground/grounded - earth/earthed

ham - gammon

high beam (car) - full beam (car)

high school - secondary school

hot (sexy) - fit (sexy)

intersection - crossroads

janitor - caretaker

jumper dress - pinafore

jungle gym - climbing frame

kindergarten - preschool/nursery school

knickers - parcel

ladybug - ladybird

line - queue

liquor store - off license

mailman - postman

math - maths

median strip - central reservation

mom and pop store - family business

mommy/mom - mummy/mum

motorcycle - motorbike

movies, the - cinema, the

open house - open day

overalls - dungarees

pajamas - pyjamas

panties - knickers

pants/slacks - trousers

paper towel - kitchen roll

parking - car park

pay raise - pay rise

period - full stop

pharmacy - chemist

pickle - gherkin

pimple/zit - spot

pitcher - jug

plastic wrap - clingfilm

potato chips - crisps

principal - headmaster

public holiday - bank holiday

puffer vest - gilet

purse - handbag

quotation marks - inverted commas

rappel (verb, climbing) - abseil (verb, climbing)

recess - breaktime

round-trip ticket - return ticket

rubber boots - wellington boots/wellies

rummage sale - jumble sale

schedule - timetable

scotch tape - sellotape

second floor - first floor

shots - jab

sidewalk (=pavement is concrete/tarmac road) - pavement (=road for pedestrians)

silverware/flatware - cutlery

sink - washbasin

sketchy - dodgy

sneakers - trainers

soccer - football

soda/pop/coke/tonic - fizzy drink

special election - by-election

spelunking - potholing

store - shop

stove - cooker

stroller - push chair

study (verb) - read (verb)

subway/metro - underground/tube

sweater - jumper

sweater vest - sleeveless jumper/slipover

swimming suit - swimsuit

table (= verb – delay) - table (= verb – suggest)

tap - faucet

teachers' lounge - staffroom

teleprompter - autocue

teller - cashier

thong (=shoe) - thong (=underwear)

tic-tac-toe - noughts and crosses

tire - tyre

traffic circle/rotary - roundabout

trailer park - caravan park

transportation - transport

truck - lorry

trunk - boot

undershirt - vest

underwear - pants

vacation - holiday

vacationers - holidaymakers

vest - waistcoat

wallet - purse

windbreaker - cagoule

windshield - windscreen

woods, the - wood, a

yard - garden

ZIP code - postcode

zipper - zip

I tweeted my way through The Prodigal Tongue, Lynne Murphy’s new book about British vs American English. I’ve been a fan of her blog, Separated by a Common Language, for many years now, so it was fun to see it expanded in book form! 

So far, one of the most notable linguistics things about living in England (besides the difference in accents and brands and driving conventions), is the term for an egress.

In the United States, the term is universally EXIT, whereas in the UK (or at least in England) it seems to be predominantly WAY OUT. It's certainly descriptive and easy to interpret, but it's got three extra characters, making the signs much longer than in the US. Why? Whence the difference?

I did a quick Google search and found no convincing answers, albeit a lot of opinions. Here are some:

1. "Exit" is Latin for 'he/she/it leaves', so using "way out" is better because it's English. Counterpoint: Exit is now English, too. English adopts words from lots of languages, particularly Latin.

2. "Exit" is a verb, and "way out" is a noun, which points to a concrete thing. Counterpoint: Exit is also noun, way out is a noun+preposition phrase. Even if exit were only a verb, it would be an instruction for how to leave the area, which could potentially be more instructive than just pointing to the actual door. Maybe?

3. "Exit" is an uncommon word and learners of English might get confused and not understand it. "Way out" is much easier for learners of English to interpret. Counterpoint: People traveling to a country that doesn’t speak their language might get the chance to learn a few helpful words, in which case 'exit' might be among them. Counter-counterpoint: If the country has only used 'way out', then there would be no impetus to learn 'exit' so learners might be unfamiliar with it, thus making it less helpful to *change* way out to exit.

4. "Way out" is what has always been used since the opening of the Tube in London. If it's always been done that way, why do it any other way (even if other English-speaking countries do?). Counterpoint: No counterpoint. This seems the most likely reason. Many things I've noticed here that are different from (or “different to”) what I'm used to are not due to differences in geographical location or proximity to continental Europe or anything like that. They're things that have always been done that way, so there's no reason to change them and confuse people. As an American, that's a new way of living for me, but as a twitter and tumblr user, I can very much appreciate things that don't change -- especially just for the sake of change!

But this leaves me with one last question: if [British] people have such strong feelings about not using the word ‘exit’ for an egress, why is “Brexit” such a successful word?

A New Years chapter for Scattered Feathers! “ Happy New Year Let's All Either Bash An Ampora's Face In Or Kiss It” :3c

(Work in progress)

B

Bathroom

Biscuits

Bottle shop - liquor store

C

Capsicun - peppers

Cassies (?) (Sidney) - costume

Chips - chips (hot chips = French fries)

D

Doona

F

Footpath

Fringe - bangs (US)

G

Gumboots - boots

H

Highway/freeway

L

Lollies - candy

P

Pants

Petrol station

S

Shed

Swimmers/bathers/togs (Melb.)

T

Thongs - flip flop sandals

I am a writer. A writer who also happens to be Kenyan. And I have come to this thesis statement: I don't write like ChatGPT. ChatGPT, in its strange, disembodied, globally-sourced way, writes like me. Or, more accurately, it writes like the millions of us who were pushed through a very particular educational and societal pipeline, a pipeline deliberately designed to sandpaper away ambiguity, and forge our thoughts into a very specific, very formal, and very impressive shape.

There’s a growing community (cult?) of self-proclaimed AI detectives, who have designed and detailed what they consider tells, and armed their followers with a checklist of robotic tells. Does a piece of text use words like ‘furthermore’, ‘moreover’, ‘consequently’, ‘otherwise’ or ‘thusly’? Does it build its arguments using perfectly parallel structures, such as the classic “It is not only X, but also Y”? Does it arrange its key points into neat, logical triplets for maximum rhetorical impact?

To these detectives of digital inauthenticity, I say: Friend, welcome to a typical Tuesday in a Kenyan classroom, boardroom, or intra-office Teams chat. The very things you identify as the fingerprints of the machine are, in fact, the fossil records of our education.

Now, consider our ‘training’ again. We were taught to be clear, logical, and, in a way, predictable. Our sentence structures were meant to be consistent and balanced. We were explicitly taught to avoid the very "burstiness" that ‘detectors’ now seek as a sign of humanity. A good composition flowed smoothly, each sentence building on the last with impeccable logic. We were, in effect, trained to produce text with low perplexity and low burstiness. We were trained to write in precisely the way that these tools are designed to flag as non-human. The bias is not a bug. It is the entire system.

The question of what makes writing "human" has become dangerously narrow, policed by algorithms that carry the implicit biases of their creators. If humanity is now defined by the presence of casual errors, American-centric colloquialisms, and a certain informal, conversational rhythm, then where does that leave the rest of us? Where does that leave the writer from Lagos, from Mumbai, from Kingston, from right here in Nairobi, who was taught that precision was the highest form of respect for both the language and the reader?

—Marcus Olang'

I could not, for the life of me work out how law, more, sure had the same sound as the book insisted. With my accent I say them like lawe, moor, sher. But no, I was meant to make a puckered cat butthole with my lips and drag out the final sound. (You're welcome for that visual lol)

LORE, MOooR, SHOOORR in my imprecise phonetic rendering.