For Canadian Ladies: Decoding Your British Boyfriend
We love Canadians, period.
Seriously, we do. Tens of thousands of them gave their lives for us in the Second World War. Royal Canada is held in the highest esteem in any English village you’ll visit; it’s where you retire to after the grandchildren have arrived. Not to mention you’re far less crazy than the giant wild-west-biker bar an hour south. Montreal ladies are impeachably the finest in the world: passionate, beautiful, controversial; they have it all. Don’t ever assume a British person looks down on Canada, or you’re in for a huge surprise. That Brit you’re building up a case against in your head for apparently being an arrogant elitist pig would very probably stand in front of a bullet for you — unless it was Rob Ford, or Stephen Harper.
None of us have ever been on a date
Yes, you definitely read that right. Almost any British person you ask will tell you that they have never been on a date. We don’t do dating, and we don’t plan Friday night drinks 3 weeks in advance with Google invites; relationships just take their course. And by “take their course”, we mean you go out drinking with friends one night, meet people, and end up next to them in bed 12 hours later — after which, you’re magically seeing each other after you do it for a second time. This whole expected structure of dates 1–3 with bar, next-day text, restaurant, kiss, restaurant etc, is totally alien to us. Don’t be discouraged if the object of your affections doesn’t seem to following the normal process. He likes you, but almost certainly has no idea where he’s going wrong. Help us out so we understand, and can play along too.
We are more than the allegedly-fancy accent
Firstly, you’re the one with the accent. Secondly, not a day goes by without one of your Canadian friends either a) trying to put on your accent, or b) explaining how, if they had one, they’d never stop talking, ever. And it’s a genuinely lovely compliment: we love you, too. However, there is a stage you get to after a few months when you realise the other person isn’t actually interested in the substance of what you’re saying, but rather the sounds of the words themselves. Imagine if you moved to China, and it was impossible to have a conversation in a bar because the locals just like the way you sounded like Louis XIV.
Our reserve is not disinterest
Ah, the British Reserve. Holding it all back for the sake of dignity. That cold wall of disconnected WTF you would associate as indifference from a Canadian chap. You’ve been talking all night, he wants to go for dinner, but the usual signals aren’t there. He’s apparently shitfaced, but he looks completely sober. He’s making a joke, but he’s got a straight face. That once-charming Victorian gentlemanliness suddenly is a crushing confusion to your seduction plan. Fear not, intrepid femme fatale. Just rile him up and you’ll see the passion underneath. Inside every Brit is a lunatic eccentric hobbyperson, just waiting to get out.
It’s about wit, intellect, farce, and banter
Education is intrinsically valued above all else in England; even above the NHS. For right or wrong, one could say we operate disproportionately above neck level. Provocative comments, unusual replies, fast deadpan dialogue, and language with a certain speedy cadence is always aimed at. If your chap is saying something a little controversial, he’s expecting a witty comeback or a hearty laugh — so if he’s crestfallen at your silence, you’ll need to apologise for having no “chat”. The most common comment from Canadian friends when they hear Brits talking after they’ve just met is “you sound like you’ve known each other all your lives”. We want the same with you, too.
We absolutely love offensive jokes
If in doubt, consult the bible of Sickipedia. The more shocking and offensive you are, the funnier it is. The ultimate prize is being banned from the BBC for repetitive violations, which the BBC know always, always results in the threat of a boycott if the offending comedian isn’t immediately reinstated. Humour is a sign of character, as is being able to take a joke.
Chaps want to be with other chaps
No, not in a gay way. A Canadian writer with the Guardian once concluded, from her dating experience living in London, that what British men want above all else is the company of other British men, and the witty dialogue that fuels it. We’d call it camaraderie, perhaps, and there’s a ring of truth to it. A chap needs time with other chaps: to exchange opinions on current events, criticize the French, pontificate on sports team performance, demo a new suit, complain about the wife, and so on. Typically in the pub. If your lad looks sad, encourage him to head to a nice British pub for a roast and an ale, just to talk about how baseball is substantially inferior to the royalty of cricket. He’ll be back at Timmy’s with a smile in no time.
Getting to the joke as soon as possible
Life is North America can be a little structured and regimented with social protocol. Most of the time, when you meet a Brit, like an Irish chap, they will go straight to a warm joke to break the wall and establish familiarity and warmth, like they have Humor Tourettes. Don’t be offended by the seeming impropriety of the gesture in the setting, as no offense or insincerity is ever meant. But saying that…
We don’t do political correctness, and we don’t give a shit if you’re offended
The word “offended” means something very different across the Atlantic. It’s a very extreme term that implies you have committed an offence so mortally unforgivable that you deserve to be rendered a social pariah, for all eternity — rather than just “upset”. Political correctness, like euphemistic language, is a cultural cancer peddled by the Fun Police and attention-seekers — and if you’re sensitive, you need to grow a backbone, laugh at yourself, and have some character. PC on a building sign stands for “pussy center”.
The pub is our living room
Quebec is an alcoholic oasis for us in North America. You people love a drink as much as we do, although bars still have a little stigma attached as places of Friday-night ill repute. The English pub is a community centre for your 70 years, where you go for weddings, funerals, Sundays, sports games, and so on. It’s where the millionaire and trash collector both have a drink after work and complain about their wives, before getting in trouble for staying on for that “cheeky” little extra pint. We drink relentlessly, but it’s about being with the same people everyday: if your chap is always in the pub, he doesn’t need an intervention; he’s following his internal GPS to where he would spend time with family.
We don’t care about your language politics
Don’t do this. Just don’t. If you want to speak French, fine. It’s sexy. But just knock it off. None of us give a shit what language you speak, and we don’t have those conversations with our Parisian friends here. Everyone should be able to speak any language they please, for any reason. At the height of the British empire, hundreds of languages were spoken across it, and 270 languages are spoken in London, today. But no, the kids will not be speaking French, thank you very much. If they want to talk to mom and and grandma like that, fine, but they’ll be reading Shakespeare first.
We don’t do sexism or feminism
The Queen was a mechanic during the war, alongside the girls who were pulling pilots out of burning planes. Victoria ran 25% of the world. A lot of us grew up under a female PM, who liked launching wars, and terrified her cabinet. The wife of one of the others was the CEO of a law firm, like the other London women who run the capital. Straight out of the gate, our default position is that women are equal. We don’t need convincing, and we don’t need a twenty-minute lecture on your personal independence or bad ideas like banning the word “bossy”. The only factor is character.
Don’t mistake politeness for pussification
One thing we obviously really share with our Canadian family is politeness, and it’s as British as it comes to serve up the understatement and play drama down so it’s laughable. You may even find the cynical outlook very negative and maybe even overly-critical. But be wary: just as the some of the most amazingly heroic stories are found in Canadian history, Brits are seriously, seriously tough. More tough than we appear, and it can be odd to witness. We’re friendly to a point, but cross the line, and that resolve kicks in for a good fight, very fast. And we really, really like a fight. That other chap who is on the end business end of your lad’s bad feeling, after he’s made some derogatory comment about how revealing the dress you’re wearing to the pub is, isn’t going to have his night end well. Threaten Canada itself, our family, and you better get ready for some serious action, Jack.
And finally…
Nobody says Cheerio, ever
Don’t do it. It means goodbye in Mary Poppins-speak. We don’t wear top hats either. Just like Canadians don’t eat moose, and say “eh” after every sentence.