Sometimes badly, but we can hold our own during regular conversations.
Now we’re moving on to Scotland, where Brian will be right at home and I will be in a whole new world. I have been so happily looking forward to street signs and movies being in English that I forgot about the fact that English in the US and English in Scotland are two entirely different animals, despite living with my favorite Scotsman for a while now.
I won’t be walking on the sidewalk, I’ll be walking on the path.
I’ll never be in an elevator, I’ll be on a lift.
I won’t eat a sandwich, I’ll have a piece.
There is no gas, only petrol.
It’s not a dog, it’s a dug.
There will be times when Brian will be crabbit because he dinnae ken where the duffie is.
I’ll wear my baffies to keep my feet warm.
We’ll wear our wellies as we’re away for a dauner up the brae to have a keek at the braw view.
I’ll go peely-wally and greet when I get a jag.
So leaving Brazil means I’ll give up on learning Portuguese, and start learning Scottish instead. Does this mean I’ll be tri-lingual soon?
It all does my nut in, so I’m glad I’ll have Brian as my cultural guide while I settle in. I’m sure he’ll enjoy laughing at me while I struggle through it. At least I’ve had a few years of getting used to him, so I won’t be totally lost.
And when it all gets too much, I’ll head to the pub and get blootered, steamin, wrecked, or bladdered. Whichever comes first.