Tag Archives: British and American words

8 bloody good British words


Posh Spice and husband looking vaguely chuffed

Yanks just don’t say these words (at least not with these particular meanings). But they also just don’t have anything of their own — at least not one particular gobsmacking word  — that comes even close to each of these fine British colloquialisms. Knock yourself out with these conkers.

Chuffed: bloody pleased with yourself. “I just beat him at squash! Yeah – I’m chuffed mate.”

Posh: toffee-nosed, upper-crust, and probably bloody loaded. “He’s going to Ascot. Posh git.”

Knackered: bloody exhausted. “I just walked home from the pub. I’m bloody knackered.”

Naff: tacky, bloody tasteless. “Did you see her party get-up? How naff can you get?”

Whinge: complain in a really annoying and tiresome way. “Will you stop your bloody whinging and moaning and get a grip?”

Beaver (verb, usually followed by away): to work your bloody arse off. “While we were all down the pub, he was beavering away on his thesis. Bloody swat.”

Twee: too bloody quaint, pretty, or sentimental. “Lace and doilies on the tea trolley? How twee can you get?”

Bloody: very. Just a bloody good word for very.



You say erb, I say herb: American vs. British pronunciation of loan words



You say ‘erb (using the silent French ‘h’), I say herb (the way it’s spelt). Here’s a good example of the difference between the American pronunciation (usually referred to as General American, or GA) and the Received Pronunciation (British English, RP) of foreign loan words — ie. words that have been adopted into standard English from other languages, many from centuries ago. Many will argue that RP has tended more to assimilate these words and pronounce them according to English spelling-pronunciation rules rather than to the way the original word sounds. So fillet (or filet), meaning a small boneless cut of meat (derived from the French word filet), is pronounced by the Brits as “FILL-uht”, in the way that its English spelling prescribes. Americans prefer to approximate the French accent with their more exotic rendering, “fi-LAY”. However, there are many exceptions to this rule, as illustrated in some of the examples below.

Especially when it comes to words of French derivation, the distinction between GA and RP is governed largely by stress, with the Americans sticking more faithfully to the French tendency to emphasize the last syllable of the word, whatever the spelling (as in fillet above). Hence baton, beret, ballet and debris are all voiced differently on opposite sides of the Atlantic, with RP placing emphasis on the first half of the word and GA on the second; attaché and fiancé follow suit, with the second and final syllables stressed respectively by the Brits and the Americans. (There are exceptions; see below.) Croissant is another curious example: Americans order a “kruh-SAHNT”, where Brits prefer a KWAH-song. But this is a great example of just how these rules of thumb don’t really hold up: whereas GA follows the French rule of emphasis here by stressing the second syllable, RP probably does a better job of imitating the French vibe by approximating both the vowel and consonant sounds of the original word (“kw” for “cr”, “ah” for “oi”, the silent “nt” following the nasal-sounding “o”). So at the end of the day, there’s really no hard-and-fast rule about whether GA or RP more closely follows the original pronunciation of the word in its native language, and indeed this seems to vary according to the original language in question. The wonderful blog Separated by a Common Language looks more specifically at Spanish loan words and how and why they’re pronounced in GA & RP, and there’s a discussion about how German words are handled on the Word Reference Forum.

Here are a few examples of RP and GA pronunciations, with the one I feel more closely approximates the original word bolded.

herb: RP: herb; GA: erb

croissant: RP: KWAH-song; GA: kruh-SAHNT

valet: RP: VAL-lett; GA: val-LAY

fillet: RP: FILL-ett; GA: fi-LAY

address (as noun in postal sense): RP: a-DRESS; GA: ADD-ress

cigarette: RP: si-guh-RET; GA: SI-guh-ret

Van Gogh: RP: either Van-GOKH (rhyming with the “loch” of the Lochness Monster) or Van-GOFF; GA: Van-GO

schedule: RP: SHED-yule; GA: SKED-yule (Greek “sch” words are generally pronounced with the hard ‘k’, eg. school)

Risotto: RP: ri-ZOT-toe; GA: ri-ZOH-toe

Pasta: RP: PAS-tuh (first syllable rhyming with “lass”); GA: “PAH-stuh”


Which or that: the ongoing debate (and a Brit-Yank divider?)


I stumbled on something interesting in the Oxford English Dictionary. It contradicts itself on the subject of which and that, using the relative pronoun which in a definition for which it (the OED) — in its own definitions of which and that — prescribes that. This seems to be symptomatic of a larger ongoing debate about the two relative pronouns that divides not just individual grammar commentators (both lay and professional) but also, apparently, two nations.

First, here’s a brief primer on the original (but now sometimes disputed or diluted) difference between which and that. According to the dictionary mentioned above — specifically the New Shorter Oxford English Dictionary (the 1993 edition): which (when used as a relative pronoun) is defined as “introducing a clause describing or stating something additional about the antecedent, the sense of the main clause being complete without the relative clause.” The same dictionary gives the relative pronoun that a different role in the sentence, “introducing a clause defining or restricting the antecedent, especially a clause essential to the identification of the antecedent (and thus completing its sense).”

An earlier Glossophilia post explains and illustrates this difference a little more simply: “‘That’ … qualifies or identifies the noun preceding it, pinpointing which one of two or more nouns is being referred to. ‘Which’ … simply adds extra but non-identifying information about the preceding noun. A good rule of thumb is this: if the that/which clause can be taken away and you still understand the reference, it must be a which. If you take it away and you’re unsure about what is being referenced, it must be a that.” (See the earlier post for examples.)

Now let’s go to the iffy definition in question: here is the noun prequel defined by the NSOED quoted above:

“A book, film, etc., portraying events which precede those of an existing work.”


According to its own definition of which, the “which clause” presented here about prequel (“which precede those of an existing work”) should be additional to the main clause (“a book, film, etc., portraying events”) and the sense of that main clause should be complete without it. So, technically, “a book, film, etc., portraying events” should stand alone as a complete and understandable clause in its own right. Hmmm … I don’t think so. That second clause is absolutely necessary to complete the definition, and therefore should be started by the word that, which (according to the OED, as noted above) introduces a clause “essential to the identification of the antecedent (and thus completing its sense)”. The definition should therefore read: “A book, film, etc., portraying events that precede those of an existing work.” At least that’s as prescribed by the historical/original respective uses of which and that, which have in the last century become rather murky — especially on the eastern side of the Atlantic.

I have noticed especially in recent years that the British (but not the Americans — at least not to the same extent) have shown a tendency to substitute that with which, as the OED has done in the prequel definition above. And almost as if to justify the switch (or what some might regard as the error),  they remove the comma that normally precedes which in its traditional role as a  non-identifying pronoun. Curiously it’s never done the other way around: ie. that is never used instead of which. Let’s look at the following examples:

“I gave him the red coat, which my mother had worn earlier.” Here, the which clause is not defining, and the main clause is therefore complete in itself: “I gave him the red coat.”

“I gave him the coat that suited him best.”  The that clause is defining (ie. it is identifying the coat in question), so the clause is essential for the sentence to make sense; without the that clause, it wouldn’t be clear which coat is being referred to.

Now the Brits might well write: “I gave him the coat which suited him best.” They are using which instead of that to start the defining clause (“which suited him best”) and removing the comma before it to make the substitution easier on the ear. But they would be unlikely to write: “I gave him the red coat, that my mother had worn earlier.”

This interchangeability or substitution is heard much less frequently on American shores, where that and which tend to retain their traditional respective identifying and non-identifying roles.

My father, Brian Barder (a staunch Brit linguistically as well as in other ways), argues that both Robert Burchfield and Roger Fowler, two of the world’s most respected authorities on language usage, were tolerant of and relaxed about what and that being interchangeable, with both of them noting that some of the best writers tend to disregard any historical difference between the relative pronouns. Here is what Barder explains:

“Burchfield/Fowler (MEU 3rd ed.) in section 3 of the that entry says that most of the time which and that are interchangeable without any “offence to any rule of syntax”, and quotes the original Fowler as ‘wisely’ observing in 1926 that  ‘if writers would agree to regard that as the defining relative pronoun and which as the non-defining, there would be much gain in lucidity and in ease.  Some there are who follow this principle now;  but it would be idle to pretend that it is the practice either of most or of the best writers.’

“I am pretty sure that the distinction has been much further eroded since 1926.

“Burchfield continues with a longish piece about additional complications when either relative pronoun is preceded by a comma, the fact that that can’t idiomatically be preceded by a preposition whereas which can, that that has no possessive form (unlike which), circs in which that is leading a defining clause can often be omitted and understood, but not when it leads a non-defining clause …  and more.  It’s on p 774 of my edition.”

But I think it’s safe to argue that Americans are just different from the British on this particular issue of tolerance and acceptability. Curiously, in this case it’s the Americans who are being the traditionalists — when it’s so often the other way round. It’s also a clear indication to me that I’ve truly joined the ranks of the Americans, at least on this one usage issue.