This is my first English speaking Olympics outside of North America. And the English spoken here, lovely as it sounds, is well, a little different than what we’re used to. A little softer. A little more genteel. A little more linguistic. But mostly, different.
In Canada, we line up. Here, we join the queue. (You do a lot of that at Olympic Games).
In Canada (or the U.S. for that matter) we use elevators. Here, there are lifts.
In Canada, we look for the washroom or the restroom or maybe the bathroom. Here, it’s the Loo. And no Roberto Luongo jokes, please.
Instead of sneakers, they wear trainers. Instead of pants, it’s trousers. They do wear pants: we call it underwear. We have cops. They have bobbies.
If you ask for that coffee to go, they’ll give you a blank stare until they realize you mean “take away.” And when you get the coffee, you’ll say thanks, they’ll say cheers.
Right about now I’m heading for a sarnie and chips, which back home is a sandwich and french fries. Cheerio.