A long time ago, when the European Union was young and innocent, officials in Brussels and Strassburg noticed that the de facto lingua franca of the Union, a. k. a. English, had started to show interesting "peculiarities". Lamb and pork were sometimes referred to as sheepmeat and pigmeat, for example, terms which (need I say it?) don't exist in any prestigious English dictionary. Years later, words like conditionality, comitology or flexicurity gained currency. After some serious eye-rolling, fastidious sticklers like me accepted the fact that the tongue spoken in those meetings and hallways, often termed Euro English or Eurospeak, was unstoppable.
The abovementioned state of affairs just goes to show that, given time, any language community will develop its own characteristics. It's a well-documented phenomenon. Couples devise private vocabularies and expressions. When left unattended, children will create actual languages (that's how pidgins become creoles) and, over time, certain dialects attain language status. Therefore it should come as no surprise to learn that AI "agents" are starting to develop their own lingos or, at least, vocabularies. Much like criminals and spies, who are usually forced to speak in code, rogue AI entities have started to coin expressions that no human has ever used before. You want a taste of it? Here you are:
Cold read: independent verification to put an end to disputes
Name-first: owning up to one's statements or solutions by putting one's name first
The ledger remembers: past actions will be considered when assessing performance
True kintsugi: the resilience of a system
Of course, that poses no reason to panic. After all, it's an innocuous enough phenomenon. The truly terrifying possibility is somewhat different. It has already been predicted that some day AI agents will cease to use a human language to interact with each other. They will "speak" what computer scientists have come to call neuralese: a non-verbal form of communication that moviegoers might remember from The Matrix (1999). The scary thing, though, is not a Matrix scenario. Those interminable sequences of ones and zeroes cascading on the computer screen could theoretically be deciphered by computer programmers. So far as we can tell, neuralese might be utterly incomprehensible to humans. And that is a reason to worry...
All this stuff presents an opportunity to reflect on the changing nature of language. Throughout the years I have borne witness to some noticeable changes in the English language. When I was a kid, saying I can't believe what I'm hearing was a no-no. It is still not too elegant, but native speakers of all walks of life do use that structure now. Similarly, the sentence I recommend you to go was unquestionably incorrect three decades ago. And words such as cringe and chill were nouns and verbs, but never adjectives. These days many GenZers speak like that (that's cringe / he's so chill). Will those novelties become mainstream in a couple of years? Who knows?
Pronunciation is also a changing creature. If you are one of the three people who follow this blog, you will remember my thoughts on some types of pronunciation which are currently fading away? One of those features was the aspiration in words such as why, what or where.
Last summer (August 2026), Dolly Parton passed away. She belonged to a generation and a region in which it was not unusual to pronounce that H-sound in words like what. I recommend that you watch the clip below and listen to the way she used to pronounce the word nowhere. Technically that initial H-like sound is not exactly the same as the H in hello. Rather, it sounds a little like a whispered [w]. Anyway, that specific feature still survives in some areas in New England and the South (not anywhere in the South, though), but clearly it is on a decline. So... Languages change. It's in their very nature. If it wasn't like that in Spain we would still be speaking Latin and you, competent speaker of English would have no difficulty whatsoever understanding something as simple as Hū wæs þīn weorc?
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N.B. In case you're scratching your head about it, Hū wæs þīn weorc? means How was work?
There are cultures that love the overstatement. Without batting an eye an American speaker will tell you you're the best when they really mean you're good or I like you. In some parts of Spain (or so the stereotype goes) people have a reputation for exaggerating. Something similar can be said about certain parts of the world. The gospels offer a famous example of deliberate hyperbole: it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God. That particular verse doesn't set out to mean it is impossible, but ratherit is extremely difficult. The expression is obviously a figure of speech, namely, not supposed to be taken at face value. I could go off on a bit of a tangent here and mention that hyperbole is not always appropriate. The way I see it, there are many situations in which people expect exact information and will not tolerate anything remotely resembling a figure of speech. Off the top of my head I can think of an oncologist telling a patient how long they have to live, the CEO of a company addressing stockholders in a general meeting and a teacher telling a student's parents about their child's abilities. In such scenarios anything other than the literal truth is tantamount to lying.
Nevertheless, in casual circumstances, competent speakers will engage in ridiculous exaggerations often to comic effect. The British culture, however, goes in the opposite direction. Most British speakers will shy away from the overstatement and, instead, go for the understatement. So, a bona fide expert will say I have some experience in that area and a soldier in the trenches of an ongoing battle will text his wife that things are not too bad. That tendency to fall short of the full truth also explains an essential part of British humor.
An advanced English speaker is expected to decode an over-the-top statement so that he or she can understand a Welsh castaway, for instance, when they say that the ship encountered some difficulty. Needless to say, you might want to choose your words carefully specially when you speak in a professional capacity. Exaggerations that work when you hang out with your friends may not be acceptable at a business meeting, neither in Wales nor in New Zealand.
Anyhow, whatever your views on this fascinating subject might be, I think you should be sensitive to cultural differences if you don't want to misinterpret simple sentences. The clip below recounts the story of an aviation incident in which a British pilot made epic use of the understatement. Enjoy.
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N.B. If you're interested in this aspecto of British humor you can also watch this other short in which the late Ken Robinson makes glorious use of an understatement (that was quite an oversight, isn't it?) and sarcasm (we all know what great heights the glee club went on to).
I was... like.. you know... tired. That is something you may actually hear these days. What should be a three-word sentence becomes a six-word sequence by virtue of what we, linguists, euphemistically call "discourse markers".
Yes. Discourse markers. You may know them by a plethora of other names: "hesitation devices", "pause fillers", "phatic tokens", etc. They are essentially words (or sounds) which a speaker uses to buy time. The way I see it, saying I was tired shouldn't be a struggle. It's a simple thought that can be expressed with the most basic grammar and vocabulary. So, what is the problem here? I don't quite know the answer to that question, but I suspect that laziness (again!) plays a major role in the "phenomenon".
In general terms, filler words aren't an error. On the contrary, they help us keep the speech going. However, the overuse of those words tends to signal that you're not thinking straight, which is only forgivable when you're truly too exhausted to think at all. Under normal circumstances (whatever that may mean) you ought to be able to utter a subject-verb-object sequence without resorting to any form of hedging. I was tired. No hesitation.
In the clip below Donald Glover uses the word like 20 times in 48 seconds. What he explains is, well... not exactly rocket science.
If someone should ask you about your take on the paintings by Picasso you would be excused for being at a loss for words. In such a scenario even an expert would probably deploy some degree of hesitation, but a different kind... the good kind.
Consider this opinion:
I think he was uh... technically brilliant, but, you know, he also innovated quite a bit. Actually, he experimented in multiple areas and, in his own way, I think he redefined the very concept of... uh... well... not only painting, but art in general.
The question is rather challenging. Unsurprisingly, even a sophisticated speaker will have to juggle several concepts and choose between lots of different possible terms. Think about the many words which can be used to describe Picasso (painter, sculptor, artist, creator, maverick), his skills (talented, gifted, extraordinary, masterful, brilliant), his contributions (innovate, break new ground, pioneer, cofound), his productivity (relentless, determined, unflinching), his political views (engage, timing, commitment). As you see, there are so many things you can say about Picasso that it would be miraculous if you managed to articulate a flawless, filler-free response in your mother tongue, let alone in a foreign language.
That said, the lexical options are drastically reduced when you discuss a particular aspect of a science. Indeed, in areas such as Physics or Chemistry many terms simply don't have synonyms. To the best of my knowledge, stem cells don't go by any other name. The same can be said about terms like DNA or chromosome. That alone explains why a biologist will show less hesitation when expounding the process of meiosis, for example. Anyhow, the video below makes that very point quite persuasively.
So, my dear learners, go easy on the fillers. Used sparingly they are a sign of advanced fluency (no doubt about that), but, much like spicy sauce, overuse tends to be... uh... rather... you know... counterproductive.
Would you enjoy a novel in which the narrator, who has just been released from prison, declares that he feels as free as a bird? Probably not. What if he then asks his lawyer how she managed to get him out of jail and she goes: "it was as easy as pie"? Cringy, right?
For obvious reasons, clichés are a symptom of lazy writing. After all, a writer is expected to be creative. That's the whole point of his craft. A writer should make a story interesting. And prose can't possibly be interesting if it offers you the kind of language that everybody uses in their day to day lives. But here's the thing. As an advanced learner you're supposed to do exactly that: use the conventions of the target language, in other words, clichés and idioms.
Only after you've mastered the cliclés can you go on to try and be original (by, for example, coining your own expressions) or be funny (by coming up with a version of an established idiom). But that, of course, goes well beyond the requirements of the C2 level. So, we don't even need to discuss those skills here.
Back to the point... When you decide to use an idiom you should consider its impact. That demands a certain degree of extra information. Is the expression very old and, therefore, recognizable or very old and just dated? I have always liked the phrase like a knife fight in a phone booth. It explains a specific situation quite efficiently. The problem is that most phone booths have disappeared, which makes the expression sound old-fashioned. You can update it and say like a knife fight in an elevator, but, even if it does the job it's not exactily a traditional phrase. It might even sound slightly unnatural. See how complicated things can get?
Let's explore another scenario. Let's imagine that you'd like to convey the idea that something is unexpected. You can say well, that was quite unexpected or even I didn't see that coming, which are perfect expressions. If you say that came out of left field, though, you'll be using an actual idiom, which by definition is not transparent. It sounds casual and conversational. Not bad. Now, if you say that was not on my bingo card you'll probably sound modern. In case you don't know, that expression was first used in 2008, which, by linguistic standards, is not a very long time ago. Will an older speaker understand that? I think so. What if you say that's a plot twist? It's kind of playful. See the difference?
At this point you should know where this is all heading... By knowing all these common idioms you can choose to sound correct, casual, fresh, feisty or even funny. It's really up to you. If you're planning on writing fiction in English, please don't even think of using any of those expressions, but if your aim is to obtain a C1 or a C2 certificate. That's quite a different story. Wait. That's a whole different ballgame. No... It's a whole different kettle of fish altogether. Well... You know what I mean.
Jordan Peterson, Canadian psychologist and internet personality, is the absolute master of word salads. He can gild any thought with sophistication. Such is his magnificent command of the English tongue. Alas... he often goes a tad too far and ventures into the utterly nonsensical. In his statements the Bible becomes the biblical scriptures, facts are factual grounds and simple questions are treated as epistemological disquisitions. And woe betide those who dare gainsay him (see what I just did?). I can only surmise that he relishes every opportunity to intimidate into submission less capable speakers who let themselves be hoodwinked by obscure terms.
In the video below Richard Dawkins, British biology professor and inventor of the word meme,poses a straightforward yes/no question to which Jordan Peterson answers that he doesn't know how to "mediate the fact-value dichotomy in that case". Leaving aside the fact that Dawkins's question does not assert a value proposition, I think we can all agree that Jordan Peterson's answer goes well beyond bombast and descends into sheer gobbledygook.
As your teacher, I'd advise you never to do the same. That speaking style cheapens your language. Finding the right word, the proverbial mot juste, and expressing a concept with clarity and precision is notably harder but also far more rewarding than resorting to unnecessary highfalutin terms.
Having said all that, it is undeniable that Jordan Peterson knows his grammar. His sentences are well-crafted and his vocabulary (when he manages to stay away from gibberish) is truly impressive.
Whatever your worldview might be, try and find good orators and study them. Identify the structures and techniques that they use and mimic them. That's the way it has always been done.
Welcome, my dear advanced students, newcomers and recidivists, young and, well, not so young. A new school year is about to begin and I'm here for you... again.
So allow me to start with an old reminder. If you left the C1.1 behind you should brush up on your advanced vocabulary and if you're new to the advanced arena, you ought to make sure that you start to work towards acquiring a decent set of fancy words. Why? Because, as you'll soon realize, finer shades of meaning are not only relevant but also necessary.
Having said that, advanced vocabulary doesn't grant your English C1 status. In my experience, many non-experts (including AI models) seem to believe that speaking at a high level consists in bandying about unusual vocabulary. Well, let me tell you right away... it does not. There are plenty of other features that also need attention, not least of all cognitive sophistication. The expression of nuance is a quintessential trait of the truly advanced register if only because granular knowledge and attention to detail demand precise vocabulary. However, substance is also critical.
I just used the word quintessential because I feel it is what I need in this particular context. Near synonyms such as essential, vital or key do not carry the idea of "being exemplary or typically representative" of something (in this case a degree of linguistic competency). For analogous reasons, a specialist will consistently make use of technical terms. And it's not about bamboozling interlocutors. Just consider the difference between an anatomical term like adrenal gland and the explanation that a lay person might find easier to understand:
adrenal gland (two words)
the little triangle-shaped hat sitting on top of a kidney(ten words)
I don't need to explain why every surgeon on the planet is partial to the first option.
Obviously, a C1 or C2 student is not supposed to know that kind of technical vocabulary or any kind of technical jargon, for that matter. But similar accuracy can and will become inevitable in certain day-to-day situations in which blanket terms such as happy or sad will not cut the proverbial mustard. What kind of sadness is your friend referring to when they say they are... sad? Are they bummed out? Clinically depressed? Heartbroken? Nostalgic? Or just upset? As you see, specificity can be rather necessary, which is the reason why I have decided to put a smile on your face by having you watch a gem of an introducion. Don't wince. It will only take 90 seconds of your time.
In the video below Stephen Fry delivers a speech during the celebrations (in the U.S.!) of the 800th anniversary of Cambridge University. Naturally, on such a grand occasion, one expects a speaker to begin by expressing their sheer satisfaction at being where they are. A standard, predictable formula would have been it is a pleasure to be here. But, you know, Stephen Fry is not exactly a predictable speaker. He plays with words as though they were physical objects and, as you're about to see for yourselves, he is more than capable of turning a conventional trope into a glorious masterpiece of oratory. Watch the first minute and a half of this speech and you'll understand what I mean.
For a long time a pet peeve of mine has been the way language acquisition is typically portrayed in American films. One doesn't need to be a linguist to realize that Hollywood doesn't have a clue as to what it's like to really learn a foreign language. Since I have spent most of my life learning and teaching foreign languages, I think I know a thing or two about the subject. But, to be honest, one doesn't need to be a polyglot to know that, whatever the advertising industry says, learning a new language is a long hard process. My students know that too well. Yet, for some unfathomable reason, Hollywood doesn't seem to get it. It keeps churning out screenplays with scenes which fly in the face of reality. Characters learn a language in just a couple of days and some go so far as to achieve the holy grail of language learning: to pass themselves off as native speakers. Here you have a quick historical overview of "the problem":
In the film The King and I (1956) it is assumed that either the British governess picks up Thai to stunning perfection or that the king of Siam and the whole court happen to speak perfect English.
In The Untouchables (1984) Sean Connery plays a cop who supposedly managed to learn Italian from a book "in a week" to go undercover. No comments.
In The 13th Warrior (1999) Antonio Banderas plays an Arab poet who learns to speak fluent Old Norse in a few days just by listening to warriors talk around campfires.
In the Netflix series Ripley (2024) the main character, played by Andrew Scott, is able to hold deep philosophical conversations with native speakers after only a month in Italy.
Other unrealistic tropes still making the rounds are Hispanic characters in the U.S. who will say "gracias" for no apparent reason, characters that supposedly speak a foreign language but switch to English as soon as they have said the one stock phrase they seem to know and, of course, let's not forget that old Hollywood staple: the multilingual villain, a cliché which, at least in English-speaking countries, has reinforced the outlandish idea that speaking many languages is somehow suspicious, dangerous or flat-out evil. The defense mechanisms of monoglots can indeed be perplexing.
To be fair, in recent times many of those fantasies have fallen out of grace. Modern spectators seem to have become increasingly aware of just how ardous and time-consuming mastering a foreign language can be. They also seem to accept the fact that being a polyglot is actually quite cool. But, when it comes to accents, Hollywood still misses the mark. Spaniards are customarily depicted as having a bad lisp (as if Spanish didn't have an S-sound!), French characters tend to have an over-the-top French accent and Central or Eastern Europeans speak in the same unplaceable, non-descript way. It looks like there is no better way of signaling how dangerous a character can be than have him (it's usually a he) display a generic Dracula-meets-Cold-War accent. Austrian? Serbian? Russian? Bulgarian? Who cares?
In the hilarious clip below Peter Stormare, a seasoned Swedish actor who's been working in Hollywood for some decades now, makes fun of all those stereotypes and openly reveals that Hollywood executives are blissfully unaware of what European accents really sound like. Enjoy.
