Conceptual complexity

Consider the following opinion about artificial intelligence:

"Empowerment was the pitch. Dependence is the business"

Succinct. Direct. Poignant. It is safe to say that neither the vocabulary nor the grammar in those two sentences are challenging in the least. And yet no child would ever say anything like that. The sophistication of that statement lies in its conceptual complexity. You hear something like that and immediately stop to ponder its veracity. In my view such sentences exemplify an oft neglected aspect of the advanced level: conceptual sophistication. It is really no use knowing hundreds of high register words if your ideas are basic.

As a longtime C2 examiner, I don't care for statements that include gratuitous vocabulary. Saying "the house was colossal" is not all that different from "the house was very big". Yes. The word colossal belongs to the type of vocabulary that one learns in C1 and C2 classes. And yet... using a fancy term doesn't require much in the way of intellectual sophistication. It's a bit like saying that the name Archibald is "more sophisticated" than Frank. Is it, though? They're just names! Statements, however, contain ideas, which can be simple or complex. Let's look at three different scenarios:

Firstly, sometimes a word can be rich in meaning. The technical term hysteresis, for instance, is complex in itself, but since it is only used in the scientific domain it can't be expected in a C2 classroom. The word desk, though, is simple enough. There's not much to say about it, right? (and yet... I could talk about it for a straight hour). Then we have a tricky category: words that seem simple, but hide multiple or unexpected meanings. Take the iconic scene from The Lord of the Rings (2001) in which Gandalf shouts "Fly you fools!". A novice learner might think that the word fly in that scene refers to the fact of moving through the air. Advanced students know that it can also mean "take flight", that is to say, "flee". I think we can agree that "Run, you idiots!" doesn't have the same ring to it. "Fly" sounds both literary and stern. The point I'm trying to make is that words, in themselves, can be simple or rich or both. They can belong to different registers and, therefore, elicit different reactions.

Now, if we take things to the next level, we will soon realize that full sentences can also behave like words. They can be easy or hard to understand. And not necessarily due to the vocabulary in them. If I say that, according to quantum mechanics, "the nature of matter is contextual, not absolute" you might feel the need to scratch your head a little. The words themselves are not intimidating. Still, the meaning is mysterious. And I know exactly what you're thinking right now. Yes. That statement is difficult to comprehend without a context. Fair enough. Here you have the context.

Everything, from light to electrons to even large molecules, behaves as both a particle (a localized "thing") and a wave (a spread-out, probabilistic ripple). Which one you see depends entirely on how you measure it. An electron isn't really a wave or a particle. It's a third, unimaginable quantum object that merely manifests as one or the other depending on the experiment we choose to perform. The nature of matter is therefore contextual, not absolute.

Again. I think the vocabulary in that paragraph is not particularly hard to understand. It is the cognitive content that makes it complex. You will probably think that Quantum Mechanics is, in and of itself, a sophisticated branch of Physics. And, of course, you won't be wrong. But that is exactly what I mean. Difficulty is intrinsic to Quantum Mechanics. Even if I try and discuss it in simple terms, comprehension will still be challenging.

Something similar happens in the video below, in which a Buddhist monk expounds his views on the concept of personal identity and the very idea of selfhood. If you pay close attention you'll realize that both his vocabulary and his grammar are, for the most part, B1. The cognitive content, though, is obviously C2 material. The sublime irony of it all is that this apparent contradiction feels a little "koan-ish"... but it is not.

Silent letters

A long time ago in a land far far away I struck up a conversation with a middle-aged American who assured me that some of the older folks in his community still pronounced the K-sound in the word knife. I happened to be on the island of Roanoke, in North Carolina, and my interlocutor was a local resident.  I never got to hear that unusual pronunciation, but I don't question the man's account. Some pronunciation habits die hard and Roanoke was, after all, the site of a colony that once attempted to be the first permanent English settlement in what is today U. S. soil. Their dialect is, in many ways, a direct descendant from the region of Devonshire in England. Still, people's perceptions of their own language are often unreliable. I have encountered many a Spaniard who decried the loss of the labiodental [v] in Spanish, even though it has never been a phoneme in standard Castilian. It does make sense, though, that some of the characteristics of the English variety spoken in Roanoke should be old. Still, I have no proof that the medieval consonant cluster [kn] has really survived into the 21st century. In European English it faded away around 1650. Did it manage to survive in the Outer Banks of North Carolina for over three hundred years? Who "K-nows"?

I sometimes use that anecdote to illustrate the fact that there was a time in the English language when the K-sound was actually pronounced in words such as knight, know, knee and knife. Unfortunately for foreign learners, the pronunciation of English evolved quite a bit while its spelling remained essentially unchanged. And that is the reason for the chaotic orthographic system we all enjoy today. Over the course of a few centuries, however, some of the consonant sounds that ceased to be articulated are still represented by the so-called "silent letters". Here's a brief sample of letters that represent no sounds:

• L in palm, balm, calm, half, salmon
• B in climb, bomb, thumb, comb
• W in write, sword, wrong

This is, of course, the cause of untold headaches. There are many other surprising examples. Just think of the "p" in words such as corps, cupboard or receipt. Nevertheless, I suspect that you'd rather watch a video about silent letters than read a wordy explanation of their origins, which is why I suggest you take some minutes of your time and enjoy the following clip:

So, does that happen overnight? Clearly not. The process whereby a sound is lost may go on for decades or even centuries, but it is always identifiable. Right now, in 2026, we have two pronunciations for the word human: with and without the H-sound. That means that the word human might be in the process of losing its initial consonant. It is not an isolated case of phonetic change. Some older speakers on the East Coast still pronounce the word whale as [hweil] and white as [hwaIt]. Alas, their children have already abandoned that pronunciation. Without any young speakers pronouncing the [h] in whale. we can safely say that the sound is virtually defunct. Similarly we can see now that some speakers articulate a [d] or a [t] in the word handsome. Most don't. Sooner of later those exceptional productions will vanish altogether and the "d" in handsome, pretty much like the [h] in whale, will be officially silent.

The main takeaway from this post should be that languages are always changing. Different pronunciations may compete for a while, but eventually one becomes mainstream and the other falls by the wayside. Silent letters remind us all of this very process. In a way, they are the headstone next to the grave where nonexistent sounds lie. Your duty as an English learner is to know which sounds are gone and which are still around. You don't want to pronounce phonetic cadavers or create zombie phonemes. If you do you may one day mention the U. S. Marine "Corpse".

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N. B. Should you be interested in listening to a reconstructed evolution of English you may want to check out the first three minutes of this fascinating video.

Speed

The ability to speak fast (and clearly) without making mistakes is usually a dead giveaway that a speaker is highly competent in a foreign language. Shockingly enough, this skill is rarely mentioned in textbooks. I have taught English as a foreign language in Germany, the United States, France and Spain, and I don't remember seeing any reference to the benefits of speaking fast nor does it seem to be a concern amongst most educators. Allusions to language efficiency do exist, but they tend to focus heavily on lexical accuracy and correct syntax, not on the speed with which you speak. And even if it is true that many C1 manuals devote pronunciation sections to connected speech, teachers usually tiptoe around those exercises.

Without fail, though, whenever I bring up this subject all kinds of defense mechanisms kick in: "You don't need to be a fast talker to get your message across" they say. And, of course, that is true. "Fast speech can be disconcerting". That is not wrong, either. Indeed speaking fast can sometimes have negative consequences. For example, it can make you seem nervous or insecure, which ultimately undermines your authority. A fast talking speed is actually not recommended when you discuss a cognitively demanding subject. As a matter of fact, I suggest you slow down your pace when you express complex ideas so that your interlocutor can process the information that you dump on them.

That said, when you are talking in a group speed can definitely be critical. A slow pace may make you sound like a textbook whereas a quick rhythm can help you come off as more authentic or natural and might even be necessary when you try and match a particular mood. Think about it for a second. Can you really be enthusiastic about something if you speak slowly? Can you show your annoyance while explaining the various reasons why you find a particular behavior unacceptable? Can you express your disbelief by saying what the hell are you talking about? at a slow speed? Probably not.

And, since speed is best perceived when you listen to a language that you don't quite understand, I think it can be eye-opening to check out the following short:

So, should you care about speaking "fast"? The short answer is: not necessarily, but in certain situations speed can truly be the cherry on the cake. Sometimes you should make a thoughtful use of pauses and command authority by speaking slowly. On other occasions you might want to speed things up a little so that your words fit a specific mood. At the end of the day, a sophisticated speaker knows when they can rattle off their thoughts machine gun-like and when they should just take it easy.

Instead of "person"

The advent of AI has brought about a quiet lexical revolution. What do you call a chatbot when you have a "chat" with it? Is it really a conversation partner or just a machine? A programme? A piece of software?  A chatbot is not a being, because it is not alive, but it does things in a way that doesn't necessarily feel machine-like. So, what should we call all of these AIs? Historian Yubal Harari has suggested the term "entity", which I don't dislike. It is in keeping with the dictionary definition, namely, "something that has separate and distinct existence and objective or conceptual reality". So far so good, right? Problems arise, though, when an AI is designated by referring to the job it performs. Let's not forget that, in English, a person who is stunning is a stunner, just like a piece of news that you find shocking can be referred to as "a shocker". Consider these sentences:

• That was shocking news
• It came as a shock to me
• It shocked me to my core
• That was quite a shocker

So, the "-er" ending does not imply humanity, ergo... a computer that teaches you something could technically be... a teacher? If we accept that label then we should also be ready to embrace the fact that an AI that books rooms for a hotel is an agent... 😬

In the video below you can see a woman trying to get an AI to admit that it is not human and the AI refusing to accept that it is not a person. Just pay attention to the vocabulary that it uses.

Just like the rise of the cell phone made it necessary to coin the term "landline" to refer to the old telephones, and the invention of the electric guitar forced manufacturers to come up with the labels classical guitar or acoustic guitar, the popularity of AI-driven technology has brought about a series of changes which demand serious consideration.

The AI in the video self-identifies first as a "real authorized booking agent", then as a "live agent" and finally as a "virtual agent". Never as an AI, a language model, a computer program, a robot or a machine. I can only assume that very soon companies will try to normalize the label "virtual person" so they can say they have "people" answering phone calls without (technically) lying.

This brave new state of affairs is to me a reminder of the fact that some languages are better equipped than others to adapt to certain changes. In this particular case I think languages like Ojibwe (spoken in an area straddling the North of the USA and the south of Canada)  have an interesting advantage over European tongues. Why? Because the grammar of Ojibwe considers a feature that Indo-European languages lack: animacy. To Ojibwe speakers nouns are animate or inanimate, that is to say, living or non-living. Interestingly enough, this feature can affect even verbs. For example, in order to say "the bird is white" an Ojibwe speaker must use the animate verb form waabishkizi, but the sentence "the shoe is white" uses the inanimate verb form: waabishkaa. To complicate matters further, sometimes a word can take the animate or inanimate form depending on the circumstances. Thus a doll, whose default form is inanimate, is referred to in the animate form when it is used in a ceremony. Long story short, it is a lot easier to hint at the to the nature of an AI in Ojibwe than it is in English or Spanish.

There is an online app called Friend that offers interactions with AI entities that behave like friends (!). And if you think that is creepy, don't look into Replika, which allows you to chat to an "AI companion" (or romantic partner). Is it okay to develop a relationship with a chatbot and then state that you have a friend?

It is becoming increasingly difficult to find the right words to name new realities. When I say I play the guitar I don't feel the need to specify if I refer to a classical, acoustic or electric guitar, but we might soon find ourselves in a situation in which words like agent or boyfriend might be ambiguous. Will we be compelled to refer to friends and partners without specifying if they are human or AI? Will it be acceptable to regard your interactions with a chatbot app as part of your "social life"? Will neologisms be necessary to name those connections? The very fact that I am considering these question already feels rather disturbing, but, then again, that is the world we're living in.

Levels

Two months ago I was telling my C1 students how every CEFR level has a beginning and an end. And even if the line that separates the C1 and C2 levels can, at times, be rather blurry (is realm a C1 or a C2 word?) the end of each level is, for the most part, quite clear. Idiomatic expression belong to the C1 level. A deep understanding of implicit subtext, for example, falls within the purview of the C2 level (as does the expression fall within the purview). And engaging in wordplay, coming up with original turns of phrase, being able to adopt different accents, referencing pop culture, using a recognizable idiosyncratic style, improvising an effective joke or writing quality poetry are skills that obviously exceed the standards of the C2 level.

A highly competent learner is supposed to have mastered the conventions of the target language ("conventions" being the operative term), not to be an artist or a stand up comedian. In other words, if a degree of language proficiency deserves the label "unconventional" it is, by definition, not C2. That said, an obvious problematic area revolves around the actual conventions that a foreigner is expected to learn. Does a competent language user need to know a slang term like "4 20" or the acronym "NGL"? I think they should... but, then again, those expressions will never be part of an exam, even if they can be found in most dictionaries and are commonly used by a sizable part of the English-speaking community.

Anyway, what I centered on two months ago was the idea that creativity is never a prerequisite for those seeking C2 certification. A good candidate is supposed to follow the rules, understand complex information, be accurate and adopt the right tone in a particular set of circumstances. That seems like quite a tall order. It is also a rather dry definition, which is why I've decided to present that same thought in several degrees of complexity. Here you have the results of my endeavors:

• A2: When you get to the highest level you can be creative
• B1: After you reach the top level, you can start being more creative with your words
• B2: There is a limit to the C2 level, and after that, you enter a new area of creative language
• C1: Once you pass the C2 level, you enter a realm of creativity that most people never explore
• C2: The C2 level has clear-cut boundaries beyond which extends the, to most language users, uncharted territory of creativity.
• D1 Beyond the bounds of C2 lies the bailiwick of the raconteur whose gamut of skills definitionally runs athwart the modes of predictable expression.
• D2: Sippan þu þone hiechstan had geræst, þu meaht onginan þine word cræftiglicor nittian

Okay, the last one is a bit of a joke. Still... the ability to express an idea in Old English does exist and clearly goes waaaaaay beyond the skills of even professional writers.

All joking aside, let's take a look at the "D1 sentence". As you can see, it is lexically dense (its vocabulary sits in the high register) and displays a self-referential structure (it claims to be more complex than the highest standard of English fluency). It is undoubtedly sophisticated, but it taxes the brain to the point of exhaustion, which means that it is far from natural. I think we can all agree that a full page written in that style would be quite unbearable. Still, I believe that sentence exemplifies the possibilities of English and, more importantly, establishes the confines of an area that is NOT C2. Therefore the C2 level does have an end. QED.

I could have gone in a different direction and come up with an alternative type of post-C2 sentence, something along the lines of this:

                       Tenuous is Thalia´s whisper to hearts of flint who pour their words

                       through hackneyed sieves of ancient lore.

It is a ridiculous example of so-called purple prose, which by definition tries too hard to be flowery and gratuitously complex, but that is exactly my point. Check out the structure, the reference to Greek mythology, the cadence of the sentence... All that goes way beyond the descriptions of the C2 level. Wouldn't you say?

The exams are nigh. This is a great opportunity to remind yourselves of what the essence of every level feels like so you can successfully clear the bar. Make sure that you have identified the defining characteristics of your level and get to work on them.

The weird origin of "O.K."

Languages are messy. We want them to be logical. We all do, but more often than not they are anything but. A technical term can become an insult, a derogatory word can become acceptable and local jokes can turn into a global phenomenon. That is precisely what happened to the expression "O.K.".

Its origin can be found in a silly fad that was popular amongst Boston intellectuals in the 19th century. It may sound weird now, but back then it was all the rage. For some inexplicable reason, a group of fun-loving speakers came up with the idea of using initials based on deliberate misspellings of common phrases. Thus, "K. C." stood for Knuff Ced, which was a fanciful spelling of "(e)nough said". Similarly, "K. Y." was supposed to represent Know Yuse, which sounds like "no use" and the letters "O. W." became shorthand for Ole Wright, which, again, was an intentional misspelling of "all right". That is the context in which the expression "O. K." originated. If you want to know what it stood for, you're going to have to watch the video below:

So, the expression "O.K." is, basically, the result of a joke that got out of hand. What does that tell us? A very important lesson: languages are messy. Sometimes they don't make any sense (you can be overwhelmed and underwhelmed, but never whelmed). They are often asymmetrical (uncouth exists, but couth doesn't). They can be shockingly inconsistent (flammable means the exact same thing as inflammable) and meanings change dramatically (in the 13th century the word nice meant stupid). In the 1930s people who wanted to listen to a radio broadcast would turn on the wireless. These days wireless makes you think of a different device, right? And, of course, we are now in the process of enduring a painful irony. The adverb literally is now used figuratively even though its entire job was once to precisely prevent figurative interpretation. Let that sink in.

Over the years I've collected more than eleven different explanations of the origin of  "O.K.". They range from the hypothesis that okay comes from the Choctaw language (in which okeh means "very good"), to a misspelling of on quay, to the initials of Old Knickerbocker (the name of a New York club) or Otto Krause, a Ford employee who, legend has it, was in charge of signing off on roadworthy cars... and so on and so forth.

It is only human to try and establish order in what is seemingly utter chaos. That search for logic through folk etymologies actually explains a part of the metalinguistic function, namely, the ability to classify reality. But let's also accept that our desire to see order where there is none should not interfere with our ability to embrace reality. Okay?

Chunks again... Naturally

Check out this phrase: I'm in way over my head. In Spanish it means "esto me queda muy grande". As you can see, the direct word-for-word translation doesn't make much sense, which is an obvious symptom that the expression in question is an idiom. So far so good, right? After all, mastering idioms is a hallmark of advanced fluency. Nevertheless, many learners tend to skip what I regard as a critical phase in the process of integrating a new expression: the prep work.

Yes. Using an idiom effectively requires a bit of behind-the-scenes rehearsal before it's ever spoken in live conversation. What is it that you should do to prepare for the big moment? Well, here is a simple breakdown:

• Identify the function that the expression performs. In this case, the idiom I've chosen (I'm in way over my head) describes a scenario in which someone is not capable of handling a complex situation.

• Master the transitions from one word to the next. Speakers who find a particular expression difficult to articulate tend to play it safe and (subconsciously) opt for a simpler phrase. So... they never use the longer idioms.

• Repeat the expression till you are blue in the face. That way you gain the kind of self-confidence that you need.

When the circumstances arise you'll recognize the pattern, reach into your bag of tricks, pull the idiom and say it as a chunk. I can't stress this enough. As a chunk. Get it? As a chunk. Imagine it is not a phrase but a very long word:  Iminwayovermyhead. 

When I say "till you are blue in the face" I mean, "till you nail it". Obviously that takes a lot of practice. How much practice? Well... A lot. Amongst us, language nerds, there is a great example of the kind of commitment I'm talking about. Just listen to this weather man confidently pronounce the longest place name in Europe.

Do you think you can say that name without some extremely serious practice? I don't think so.

In order to pronounce long sequences effectively it is necessary to practice consonant clusters and transitions. It applies to place both names and idioms. First you practice an expression with a specific subject: I'm in way over my head. Eventually, you'll be able to use different subjects and say she's in way over her head or they're in way over their heads, etc. Then you may even consider similar phrases and jump to a synonymous expression. In our particular case, a very similar idiom is I'm out of my depth. It has a similar ring to it, doesn't it? When you say that the situation you find yourself in is "difficult and dangerous", rather than "hard to handle", you can say that: I'm out of my depth here. Again, before you try it out, you should ensure that you can deliver that line without a hitch. Out of your depth. Practice it over and over again. Out of your depth. Out of your depth...

That is, my dear students, the surefire way to incorporate idioms: one at a time. Identify the circumstances that call for a particular expression and then articulate it as if it were a word. Remember to say them without thinking about the actual words that are involved. And forget about the grammar too. You're not supposed to be a mechanic here. You only want to drive the car. Okay? Leave grammar and syntax for us, teachers, or else you might find yourself in a situation in which you'll definitely feel the need to say: I'm in way over my head.

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N.B. Pronouncing Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogch is something of a point of pride for many Welsh people. This funny video shows two famous Welsh actors (Taron Egerton and Luke Evans) pronounce that place name flawlessly.

The art of (mis)quoting

We know that, contrary to popular belief, Bogart never said Play it again, Sam and, of course, Conan Doyle didn't give Sherlock Holmes the famous line Elementary, my dear Watson. Rather surprisingly, though, those two misquotes have proved to have true staying power, probably because they respectively encapsulate the essence of an iconic scene and the relationship between two beloved characters.

I suppose that trying to pass for a verbatim quote what is only an approximation to what someone else said is a habit we all know too well, which is why we should always let a listener know if we are repeating someone else's words or improvising a version of what they said. So, here are your options.

When you are absolutely positive that the words you are about to utter are the exact same words somebody else said you can use these two expressions:

• And he said, quote unquote, "I shall never eat chickpeas again"
• And he said, and I'm quoting, "I shall never eat chickpeas again"

However, if you are unsure as to the accuracy of the quote you should acknowledge your uncertainty. Here are three expressions you can use:

• And he said "I shall never eat chickpeas again", or words to that effect
• And he said, I'm paraphrasing, "I shall never eat chickpeas again"
• And, if memory serves, he said: "I won't eat chickpeas ever again"

Christopher Hitchens (1949-2011), an absolute master orator, was able to effortlessly retrieve correct quotes from memory. Most of us, mere mortals, do not possess that dazzling ability. So... unless your memory is perfect you may want to use some of the above expressions every once in a while lest a passing reporter take you at face value and quote you saying the wrong thing. By the way, if you are unsure as to what language mastery looks like you should probably take a look at the clip below. I find it quite impressive. Do you?

Vocal fry

The English language does not lack in terms which designate that most admirable human virtue: the ability to not panic in the midst of a crisis or in the face of impending doom. In fact, British culture is packed with phrases that bolster the 'stiff upper lip' archetype. The über-memeable 'Keep calm and carry on' and the old 'mustn't grumble' come to mind. Yet, there’s a delightful irony in the fact that English speakers should rely on French adjectives like nonchalant, blasé, and insouciant precisely to describe such a distinctively English attitude. At any rate, I believe the underlying message is clear: if you are English you keep your cool. And keeping your cool is a good thing.

I suspect that behind the triumph of the word cool hides a stereotype about "hot-blooded cultures" in which people prefer passion and emotions over self-restraint and stoicism. I am actually cool with that (pun totally intended) even if I come from one of those "passionate cultures".

I understand that level-headedness is exactly the kind of temperament you want when it comes to air pilots, brain surgeons and professional sharpshooters. No problem there. Some people, however, believe that being cool is not good enough. They want to take their attitude to the proverbial "next level" by displaying what I like to call the I-don´t-give-a-hoot attitude, with which they seek to signal not necessarily skepticism or stoicism, but rather indifference or even apathy. The subtext to whatever they say is not that they don't mind a setback, but that they just don't care about it. And while that brand of disdain has come to be expressed in many different ways, I think the infamous vocal fry has to be the most annoying of them all.

What is vocal fry? Simply put, it consists in the tendency to lower one's voice down to the deepest possible degree, which makes the vibration of the vocal cords quite noticeable. The video below contains a few examples.

As I said above, vocal fry is supposed to signal detachment, lack of interest or sheer indifference. You probably know what I'm referring to. It's that I'm too-cool-for-school approach to oral interaction which so many millennials and Gen-Zers appear to love. This phenomenon is, by no means, exclusive to young people. Noted linguist Noam Chomsky, who is now 97 years old, has been using vocal fry for decades. And he is not an isolated example. Sam Altman, the CEOI of OpenAI, is 41 years old and uses vocal fry in an exceedingly annoying way. I also remember how Benedict Cumberbatch chose to use a mild form of vocal fry for his work on Sherlock (2010-2017) and, by the way, I believe it was a good decision. It helped his Sherlock Holmes give off a certain worldweary vibe. So, no. The vocal fry phenomenon is not new nor is it limited to young women and yet that is the stereotype. In the minds of many native speakers the standard "vocal fry user" is a Kim Kardashian lookalike. Don't take my word for it. Prominent feminist author Naomi Wolf has gone so far as to explicitly ask women to drop that irritating habit. Of course, there has been some backlash from other feminists who denounce the implicit double standards in her advice. After all, men are not usually called out on that same habit. I think that theirs is a valid objection. At the same time. I also understand public perception. Because men already have deeper voices, their vocal fry might be less conspicuous and, therefore, less surprising. Of course, that doesn't mean that women use it more often than men. They don't. The bias simply highlights the fact that amongst women it is more noticeable. So, I suppose I understand both Ms. Wolf and her critics.

That said, I personally find vocal fry beyond exasperating (both in men and women) and agree with all those experts who point out its evident drawbacks. It undermines the authority of your voice and makes you sound insecure or artificial. Still, I admit that it is not a matter of right or wrong. Pretty much like the valley girl accent or the notorious uptalk, vocal fry is a phenomenon that bothers some and elicits utter indifference from the rest. I just thought you should be aware of its existence. Just remember that, for better or worse, your speaking style always has an impact on your listeners.

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N.B. Yes I am aware that the not-so-subtle sexism of the term "valley girl accent", but I'm afraid that's what it is called.

Humor

"If you're in a vehicle and are traveling at the speed of light and you turn your lights on, would they do anything?" That's a killer one-liner by the great Steven Wright. In this video you can hear the man deliver that line with his signature deadpan style. Liked it? Okay. Now check out this one by Tim Vine: "I started running a dating app for chickens, but it's a real struggle trying to make hens meet". The first joke relies on a concept taken from the field of Physics (i.e. nothing can move faster than the speed of light). The second one refers to an idiom (i.e. to make ends meet). I find them both hilarious. Do you?

It is no secret that humor doesn't translate well. Its success often depends on many factors: connotations, phonetics, local conventions, context, delivery style... which means that a foreigner who can appreciate a joke in real time has already acquired a high level of proficiency in the target language. Interestingly enough, that skill is partly learnable. Take, for example, the structure "X, Y and Z walk into a bar". It usually mentions an incongruous group of people (e. g. an astronaut, a cowboy and a rabbi) and signals that the person speaking is going to tell a joke. It functions much like the old "once upon a time", which lets a listener know they about to hear a fairy tale. In the "metajoke" below, Barack Obama exploits the old convention of the three peculiar individuals to great effect:

Other conventions have to do with the format of some jokes. Thus, an advanced learner should at least be aware of several popular "templates": the chicken-crossing the road jokes, the knock-knock jokes, the yo mama jokes, etc.). But still. It cannot be denied that "getting a joke" requires a lot on the part of the listener and, as usual, nothing beats massive exposure. That is why I recommend that you watch someone like Stuart Francis. He is a Canadian comedian who specializes in that quintessentially North American brand of humor: one-liners and quick wacky jokes with a short intro and not much in the way of context. His jokes put your understanding skills to the test, but at least they are short and allow for a simple "analysis".  Give it a try and you'll see what I mean:

If you enjoy these jokes your English level is definitely pretty high. Congratulations. And if you still struggle to understand the laughs, you know what to do: keep watching stand-up comedians, sitcoms, late night shows, etc. Eventually you'll realize that references will start to sound familiar, puns will suddenly make sense and you'll find reasons to break into laughter. All you need es massive exposure.

I'll leave you with a joke by an absolute mater of one-liners, the late Mitch Hedberg: The best thing about escalators is that they cannot break. They can only become stairs. It is, in itself, a vocabulary lesson. Don't you think?

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N.B. I know I have only referenced American humor. It doesn't mean that I don't like the British sense of humor. On the contrary, I actually love it, but the truth is it would be too complicated to even try and address the topic of British humor in a short post such as this. Still, if you are curious about the multiple differences between British and American humor you can take a look at this clip one. It is quite insightful.

Eloquence

I love Raye's music. Seriously. I believe she's the best news to have come out of the United Kingdom in quite a while. Her style is fresh, exciting and she definitely knows how to write lyrics that linger in your head long after the song is over. That said, I think it would be great if she worked a little on her speaking skills. Just listen to this clip:

"Also at the same time, yeah, like, do you know what I mean? Like, you know..."

There's nothing wrong with using fillers and discourse markers. They help us avoid awkward silences and play for time while we look for the right words. But problems start to pile up when a sentence contains more fillers than meaningful terms. So, let's forget about Raye for a second and look at these two random examples:

• "I was, sort of, you know, kind of, like... tired"
• "And I was, like... wow".

Do they sound familiar? Those phrases capture the inarticulacy of so many speakers who fail to craft such simple sentences as I was tired or I was awestruck. On the other end of the spectrum we come across someone like Eileen Gu, a record-breaking freestyle skier, who recently answered a question like this:

Even though she uses the term like an inordinate number of times and ends her answer with a perfect example of the infamous vocal fry, she is without a doubt a gifted speaker. Within 60 seconds she manages to display a perfect mixture of lexical resources, which includes the following:

• advanced vocabulary (pensive, revere, analytical lens, neuroplasticity, egotistical)
• a simple expresions (I spend a lot of time in my own head)
• a thought-provoking scenario (my 8-year-old me would revere who I am)
• an effective comparison (tinkering like a scientist)
• colloquialisms (flex, are you kidding?)

Both Raye and Eileen Gu are highly accomplished women who excel in their respective fields, but it would be preposterous to state that their speaking skills are comparable. As English learners, we should pay attention to the way competent speakers talk so we can borrow from them as much as we can. Articulate speakers remind us of the immense range of possibilities that a language has to offer. They help us understand our choices and venture into uncharted territories. So, now you know what to do: hone your metalinguistic awareness and give serious thought to your own communication skills or, as Eileen Gu would put it, "apply an analytical lens to your speaking process". It definitely pays off.

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N.B. Some may argue that comparing a less articulate interview with an inspired one is unfair. And that is a valid point. However, these clips are intended solely to illustrate the spectrum of eloquence. Remember that this blog is a study of the English language, not a critique of the people speaking it.

Beware of social marking

Once upon a time, in the late 10th century, Ælfric of Eynsham, a prolific Anglo-Saxon scholar described the creation of the first two humans in these terms:

God gesceop þa æt fruman twegen men, wer and wif

 In modern English it reads like this:

    God created then at the beginning two persons, a male and a female

You don't need to be a trained philologist to realize that in the 10th century the word men meant persons (or human beings). Isn't it interesting? Back then, if you wanted to refer to a "male human", the standard word was wer, which is still present in the compound werewolf and is connected to the Latin term vir. The original meaning of wif was simply "female human" (and sometimes "wife"). In fact, the very word woman comes from wif-man: literally "female-person". Eventually, of course, the meaning of the word man changed. In other Germanic languages, however, it evolved differently, which is why modern German uses it as a gender-neutral pronoun (man) that refers to an unspecific subject: man spricht deutsch means, quite simply, German is spoken. But that is a different story.

There is nothing shocking or new about any of the above. Linguists have known all this for centuries. So why am I discussing it now? Well, because today is International Women's Day and I think it is a great opportunity to stop and consider the relationship between language and thoughts. Some argue that, when it comes to considering a person's thinking process, words are nothing short of cosmetic. To that I counter that words help us shape our thoughts. Siri Hustvedt once remarked "words matter because they alter perception" (or words to that effect). Whether we find it logical or not, the fact is that speakers react differently when labels are changed. A case in point can be found in U.S. politics. The labels Affordable Care Act and Obamacare designate the very same federal law, but (to nobody's surprise) elicit radically different reactions from voters. I don't think I need to explain why. And that leads us to a phenomenon that is usually called "social marking".

Social marking (you guessed it) is the process by which a speech community imposes sociocultural assumptions onto words. As far as gender is concerned, the most obvious examples of social marking is the proclivity to ascribe a particular gender to a particular job. When we hear words such as plumber or thief we overwhelmingly picture a man. When we come across terms like nurse or flight attendant we tend to think of a woman. Needless to say, those four words are gender-neutral. The marking, therefore, is not grammatical, but rather psychological. I think we can all learn to reverse that situation by mistrusting our own impulses even when reality does reinforce our initial assumption (most flight attendants are indeed female and most thieves happen to be men).

My personal view is that we've come a long way since the days when the idea of a female surgeon was literally inconceivable. Proof of that is the fact that whenever I come across terms like judge, architect or astronaut I honestly don't have a clear picture as to the gender of the person in question. I suspect that this inability to attribute a particular gender to a profession is actually backed up by reality. I would say that it means we're making progress. Wouldn't you?

Efficiency and clarity

In his quirky prose book Juan de Mairena, Spanish poet Antonio Machado evoked a fictional scene where a teacher asks a pupil to give a literary polish to a ridiculously convoluted phrase. The phrase in question was the consuetudinary occurrences which transpire upon the thoroughfare [my translation]. A clever student was quick to offer a "poetic" version of that atrocity: What happens in the street, said the kid. By means of such an unlikely anecdote, Machado sought to point out the fact that efficient expression should dispense with unnecessary flourishes and stick to the its substance.  Literary language is not about throwing together fancy words.

I mention this because experience has shown me that many C1 hopefuls tend to be catastrophically misguided. They seem to fall for the myth that hyper-accurate vocabulary is the only hallmark of a pro. Well... I regret to report that it is not. A certain degree of accuracy is obviously needed, but an English learner shouldn't depend solely on lexical precision to show their advanced competency. In fact, an accumulation of unusual terms (however accurate they might be) is often counterproductive. On his late night show, Stephen Colbert, customarily proves this very point during every introduction of his "Meanwhile" segment, which typically consists in an extended metaphor packed with infrequent terms that  (to the uninitiated ears) sound like utter gibberish. Just watch the first 42 seconds of the video below and you'll realize what I mean.

What we, advanced learners, ought to aim for is range and efficiency. And yes. Oftentimes efficiency is closely linked to the ability to be succinct. Compare these two phrases:

• an experience that you have only one time in your life (B2)
• a once-in-a-lifetime experience (C1)

But conciseness alone doesn't necessarily entail efficiency. Sometimes the expression that produces the desired effect is actually longer than the direct simple one. This is particularly true when we want to paint a vivid picture. Compare the following sentences:

• It's easy (A1)
• It's not rocket science (C1)

They clearly mean the same thing, but the impact on the listener is noticeably different. In this specific case efficiency relies on the speaker's ability to use a conventional expression (rocket science) and, therefore, to sound natural. Compare now the different ways you can say that something or someone is "tough":

• That's a tough needle to thread
• That's a tough pill to swallow
• She's tough as nails
• She's a tough cookie
• It's like pulling teeth
• It's an uphill battle

Being efficient is all about "getting the job done" without unnecessary words. Sometimes you need an accurate term ("She castled kingside"). On other occasions, you just focus on relaying the message in a way that is interesting, funny, spontaneous, exotic or simply appropriate. Don't get too hung up about the mot juste. Using the perfect word can indeed give you a wonderful sense of achievement, but it can also turn out to be rather pointless. If you don't believe me, ask an average native speaker about the exact difference between a washer and a gasket or even the meaning of mot juste.

Don't talk like a child

One of the regrettable consequences of the digital revolution was the lowering of reading standards. In the early years of the Internet companies were quick to realize that published texts had to be short, punchy and fresh. Nuance, however, often demands more complex prose and "big words", which offer specific shades of meaning (compare the term strange with some of its hyponyms: quirky, outlandish, weird, eccentric, etc.). These days, with readability being the ultimate metric, many webmasters still choose to publish a simplified form of prose that barely challenges a middle-school reader. And I this is by no means a rhetorical overstatement, but rather a hard fact. The 12-year-old reading age has really become the global benchmark for most websites. And if you don't believe me feel free to take a peek at the Web Content Accessibility Guidelines.

I understand that it is often necessary to make sure that nobody is excluded from certain types of information. However, constant exposure to child-level comprehension comes with a price. These days a surprising number of Internet users don't seem to take offense when an article is obviously simple. They actually appreciate the effortless reading and neglect to notice that they are being patronized. Needless to say there's a downside to that convenience: many adults today can't "read between the lines". They don't understand irony, perceive allusions or realize a change in tone. In short, they fail to act as adults. And, as a self-defense mechanism they will downplay a weak speaker's shortcomings and call accomplished orators elitists.

But what happens when a situation calls for nuanced communication? Think about the type of language a neurologist, a financial advisor, a diplomat or a president are expected to use when they act in a professional capacity. Is it acceptable for a doctor be flippant about a dire prognosis? Is there a casual way to address a nation after a terrorist attack?

As I have said before on this blog, the sitting president of the U. S. A. represents the nadir of expression. His entire world seems to be compressed into 500 words. Okay. Maybe more than 500. At any rate, there is overwhelming consensus that his speaking style is an exercise in lexical poverty. You will forgive me for sharing an excerpt of a recent speech by Mr. Trump, which is by no means an isolated anecdote. It is a grim daily standard:

We want respect. We're going to have it. We already have it. More respected now than we ever were. A year and a half ago they laughed at us. Now they respect us again at levels that never respected us.

Of course, it could be argued that even a person operating within such a remarkably narrow word range can still "go places". And that argument might indeed be hard to counter. Yet, as an English teacher, it is my duty to remind you all of the fact that an official examiner will not be as lenient as some voters seem to be in the U.S. Advanced learners ought to do far better than Mr. Trump, which is why I have decided to show you three structures that exceed the capabilities of an average 12-year-old. Check them out:

Impersonal sentences

• 12-year-old: Everyone helps pay for our doctors and hospitals through their taxes.
• Advanced learner: Our healthcare system is funded through taxation.

• 12-year-old: We should have our own opinions and not follow the opinions of others.
• Advanced learner: Developing a personal worldview requires intellectual autonomy, not the passive acceptance of prevailing doctrines.

Subjects which begin with a wh-word

• 12-year-old: It’s impossible to understand why he is still famous.
• Advanced learner: Why he is still relevant is incomprehensible.

Modifiers before the relative pronoun

• 12-year-old: We should worry more about our students' health because more than 70% of them aren't getting enough exercise.
• Advanced learner: We should consider the health of our students 70% of whom do not take regular exercise.

I could, of course, suggest many other examples, but I think this sample is illustrative enough. Remember that even if a sophisticated speaker doesn't need to speak like a fusty old professor all the time, he or she should be able to "run the spectrum" so they can say something basic (She is not going to be famous forever) and then something slightly more nuanced (Is she aware of the ephemeral nature of public adulation?) and, if need be, try and be funny or mysterious or comically pompous. I believe the message is clear. You're an adult. Talk like one.

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N.B. To those of you that think that the video above was a cherry-picked example of Trumpian inarticulateness I suggest you watch the video below. It is an AI-generated clip specifically created to dispense with Donald Trump's voice, his quirks and mannerisms, so that you can concentrate on what he actually says. Bear in mind that this is an unedited word-for-word version of what he said.

Long vowels

Phonetics is not a subject at school. Once in a while it may be touched upon by some eager teachers, but, to the best of my knowledge, most students graduate from high school without ever learning about devoiced consonants or central vowels. Yet, in English-speaking countries a version of phonetics is indeed taught to children when they learn to read. They are told, for example, that the sequence [əʊ] is a "long vowel" and that the vocalic sounds in closed syllables like god or bed are "short vowels". Okay. That is clearly not the case. The dipthong [əʊ] obviously consists of two vowels, namely, a schwa [ə] and a "lax u" [ʊ]. Yes. Two vowels. * 

However, English-speaking teachers customarily tell their pupils that a vowel is "long" when they pronounce the name of the letter. So, the vowel in the word name, for example, is "long" because the "a" is pronounced as [ei], whereas the vowel in tack is short. That clever rule of thumb doesn't always work, though. The word goat (pronounced [ɡəʊd] in the UK and [ɡoʊd] in the US) is spelled with two letters which, quite obviously, don't have one name. Still, the dipthong in the middle of that word is described as a "long vowel". Even if the explanation is quite messy (it mixes up letters and sounds), I understand that it can be  useful in primary school classrooms. That said, to adults who are learning English in Italy or Spain, the whole thing can be extremely confusing.

And not only to foreigners. In a 2025 interview with Stephen Colbert, Daniel Craig was persnickety enough to point out that Colbert used to mispronounce his lastname. As you will hear in the video below, the correct pronunciation of the surname Craig demands that the speaker pronounce a dipthong [ei], not an "open e" [Ɛ]. However, Colbert finds (or pretends to find) the difference a little too "subtle". To me it's quite clear. Is it obvious to you?

Anyhow, if I'm blogging about this issue it's because there is a takeaway for all of you. Bear with me for a minute.

When English speakers learn Spanish they typically struggle to pronounce our so-called "clipped vowels". They tend to say [nəʊ] or [noʊ] instead of simply [no]. For the same reason they say ['balei] instead of [ba'le] when they learn French. How is this all relevant to you? Well, my dear Spanish speakers, you have the "reverse" problem. Most varieties of Spanish lack long vowels. By "long vowels" I'm referring to real long vowels such as the first [a] in the Argentinian pronunciation of Bárbara. Therefore a typical Spanish speaker will have serious difficulty pronouncing the English word father, whose vowel [a:] is slightly longer than the one we find in fad. ** Now, if you want to perfect your pronunciation you may have to polish your English vowels. I suggest you start by practicing simple phrases, like let's go to a bar. Remember that the vowel in the word bar is a tiny little bit longer that its Spanish equivalent. I won't say anything about the quality of the vowel or the pronunciation or the [r]. This post is about vocalic length.

Does this make any sense? I certainly hope so. As ever, my advice is simple: practice the pronunciation of everyday words like car, bar or garden and one day you'll be able to deliver the legendary reveal in The Empire Strikes Back: "No, I am your faaaaather".

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* I know. I know. The term "lax u" is not scientific, but you will forgive me for not using the technical denomination. In my opinion mid-centralized close back rounded vowel is a bit of a mouthful.

** I know. I know. The "a" in fad represents a completely different sound, but I'm only talking about the length here.

Guns and horses (part 2)

In my previous post I dealt with gun and horse metaphors and insinuated that some idioms can become "dead expressions" insofar as they don't evoke a particular picture. That is most certainly the case of lexicalized metaphors. Unless you are an accomplished etymologist, you might not be notice that the very word metaphor is, in fact, a metaphor itself. It happens to mean "to transfer", which derives from meta (farther) and pharein (take). Similarly, when a computer programmer mentions a firewall or a political pundit refers to a cordon sanitaire, they are using lexicalized metaphors. You typically say those words without visualizing what they say or giving a second thought to their respective origins. And that can, sometimes, be problematic.

Indeed, sooner or later, an overabundance of expressions that revolve around one specific topic end up setting a particular tone which is ultimately perceived even by speakers with questionable metalinguistic awareness. You don't need to be a lexicographer to realize that many common expressions in the business world bristle with an unequivocally aggressive tone. And if you have never remarked that... just think about for a second.

When you "target a demographic" you are effectively directing a metaphoric weapon to that population and if you "launch a marketing campaign" you act like a field marshal during a war. In the business world intense competition is "cutthroat". When you finalize a deal you "go in for the kill". Hiring someone that is already working for a different company is called "headhunting". To motivate a team you "rally the troops". When you make progress against a competitor you "gain ground" (just like you do when you invade a country). To do something secretly you do it "under the radar". When you make a lot of money over a short period of time you "make a killing". And the list goes on and on.

So, if you would rather avoid belligerent vocabulary, you might be glad to learn that there are indeed plenty of alternatives you can use without sounding amateurish. Instead of "targeting a demographic", for example, you can "cater to a demographic" or  "focus on it" or "engage with it", "appeal to it", even "seek to resonate with it". The list is not short. Having said that, I am aware that you can't really speak the professional jargon if you always avoid those well-established expressions. Such is life.

At any rate, it is not only war metaphors that can compel you to look for friendlier alternatives. Personal taste can also make you reconsider the use of certain idioms. And no. You don't have to be a hypersensitive snowflake to feel ambivalent about the sound of some traditional turns of phrase. Take the case of animal-related idioms. I'm going to go out on a limb and say that most people in 2026 don't like animals being mistreated. And yet, dictionaries are not always kind to our furry friends. A very popular expression goes like this: "there's not enough room to swing a cat". It is, of course, a colorful way of saying "this place is very small". Unfortunately it plants a mental picture that a cat lover might not appreciate. For similar reasons, someone who likes horses might take issue with the expression "it's like beating a dead horse" (meaning "it's useless") and so on and so forth. You get the picture.

Okay. Let's assume you don't like those expressions. What do you do? The answer is obvious: you use an alternative. Instead of mentioning any kind of cat-swirling you say "it's a bit of a tight squeeze" or "there's barely enough elbow room". As for the phrase about the dead horse, you can remain idiomatic and avoid the mental image of someone flogging a cadaver by simply saying "we're going in circles" or "we're spinning our wheels" or (should the context call for a more elevated register) "there's no need to labor the point". And, of course, you can always go idiom-free and say "this is pointless" or "this leads nowhere".

The bottom line here is clear: you should try and make sure that you have many options at the ready. That way you won't have to mention a dead horse when you find an activity pointless or refer to murder when you finally get a client to sign a contract. Also, by making personal decisions you will shape a speaking style that reflects your own worldview, which is what building an idiolect is all about: developing your own personality. Now, go out there and use some idioms. Happy practice!

Guns and horses (part 1)

A couple of weeks ago, when the Louisville police chief reported a significant drop in the city's 2025 crime rates, he said the following:

When we look at the end of the year last year compared to 24 you can see, when it comes to crime, we're down all across the board and that's exactly what we are shooting for. Homicide is down 21%, fatal shootings, non-fatal shootings, carjackings, all those are down. They're going in the right direction.

I'm not sure that a police chief saying "that's exactly what we're shooting for" displays good judgment (unless he's trying to be funny, which he probably shouldn't), but I understand that he was simply using a common expression. After all, when you go after something with determination, you "shoot for it" or even gun for it.

Still, I think we can agree that he could have gone down a different road. So...  What could he have said? An obvious alternative would have been "this is what we were aiming for". Of course, if you're a little thin-skinned you may also object to that phrase given that you take aim at something when you mean to hit it with a stone, an arrow or a bullet. So, the question remains: can we have a non-ballistic, less hostile way of conveying the same meaning? Absolutely. How about "that was exactly our goal"? It is true that it lacks the punchy quality of "shooting for something", but it does get the message across. How about "that was the plan all along" or "that was our objective from the outset"or even "that's what we were going for from the word go". As you see, the options are always there.

Anyway, if I'm discussing that police officer's word choice is because it gives me us an opportunity to explore the wonderful world of metaphors. So, if you can spare a few minutes, bear with me as I look into gun-themed expressions, which are extremely popular in English. You won't regret it. I am well aware that some of you might be reluctant to use them, but the truth is you can't call yourself an advanced learner if you don't understand them. So, here goes.

Guns

The way I see it, a truly advanced learner should know that (in the U.S) the person occupying the front passenger seat of a vehicle "rides shotgun". Indisputable evidence is usually referred to as "a smoking gun". If you manage to avoid a catastrophe, you "dodge a bullet". If you decide to finally do something unpleasant that you have put off then you "bite the bullet". Someone unpredictable and dangerous is a "loose cannon". An attempt with low probability of success is "a long shot". If a person is honest and direct, they are "a straight shooter". If you start something before the appropriate time you "jump the gun". When you react without careful consideration you "shoot from the hip". The person who controls a situation "calls the shots".  I could go on...

Obviously, every language has its own preferences and built-in biases, which typically crystallize in proverbs, idioms and all kinds of expressions. I, for one, have always felt that colloquial Spanish has a penchant for religious references, whereas in German there is a surprising number of everyday expressions that mention farm animals. Why that is the case I honestly don't know. After all, religion and farming have been central to the histories of both Spain and Germany. Whatever the reasons behind those preferences might be, the fact of the matter is that a competent Spanish speaker is expected to understand the expression "he is not a saint I pray to" and an advanced German learner should also know what "I've had pig" means. In case you're wondering, "no es santo de mi devoción" means "I'm not a fan of his" and "Ich habe Schwein gehabt" is a colloquial of saying "I got lucky".

Being aware of such biases gives you the chance to consider alternatives, enrich your vocabulary and shape your own a personality in English, which ideally will also make you aware of the areas where we can all meet. One such case is the expressions that revolve around horses.

Horses

Spanish is, indeed, packed with horse metaphors ("perder los estribos", "ser ligero de cascos", "dar rienda suelta a tus pensamientos", "atar en corto", etc.) and, guess what, so is German ("arbeiten wie ein Pferd", "Rossnatur", "das Pferd von hintem aufzäumen", "mit ihm kann man Pferde stehlen", etc.). Unsurprisingly English is also no stranger to that vocabulary area. In fact, we can find a myriad of horse-themed expressions. Check out this sample list:

• to eat like a horse
• to come down to the wire
• neck and neck
• to put the cart before the horse
• get off your high horse!
• straight from the horse's mouth
• don't look a gifted horse
• to be a dark horse
• hold your horses
• to horse around
• a one-trick pony
• I don't have a horse in that race

Even an expression like to win "hands down" (which I mentioned in my previous post) is connected with horse races. How? When a jockey is really far ahead the rest of the horses, he or she can drop their hands and relax the reins way before reaching the finish line. They literally win (with their) hands down. Interesting, right?

And while that particular horse expression is only used in English, many others have enjoyed a kind of success that might feel even excessive. Take the English proverb "never look a gift horse in the mouth". I really don't know where that saying originated, but I know for a fact that it is now ubiquitous. We find it in Spanish ("a caballo regalado no le mires el diente"), in German ("einem geschenktem Gaul schaut man nicht ins Maul"), in French ("à cheval donné on ne regarde pas les dents"), in Italian ("a caval donato no si guarda in bocca"). In fact it pops up in just about every European language. And if you're skeptical about it, take a peek at this website from Centro Virtual Cervantes, where you can see that very expression in up to 22 languages.

So... horses, unlike guns, feature prominently in day-to-day conversations in many European countries, which should come as no surprise given that horses have been a part of most Europeans' lives for centuries. I suppose that Arabic and Urdu must have their fair share of horse idioms. Anyway, the great thing about horse expressions is that they offer a common ground to all of us. They make up an area we can always rely on. They also remind us that languages are complex, multifaceted systems, which over time become the memory of a whole culture. And English metaphors deal with all kinds of areas: sports, music, physics, mythology, war, pop culture, plants, you name it... So, if you should find an English expression that feels a tad too "exotic" or that makes you uncomfortable (for whatever reason), just remember that you can always find an equally valid alternative to paint a different picture.

Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to stop blogging and grab some breakfast. I'm so hungry I could eat a horse. Oops...