How London Changed My English

I’m a native English speaker. I was born and raised in England, worked in London for over 25 years, and built my career in some of the UK’s top advertising agencies. I knew how to write, speak, and present — in boardrooms, in brainstorms, and at barbecues.

But then I left.

And suddenly, all my polished London English — the polite fluff, the coded phrasing, the endless hedging — started to sound... odd.

Here’s what I’ve noticed since leaving the UK and living in the Balkans. Some of it makes me laugh. Some of it makes me reflect. And all of it reminds me that language is never just grammar — it’s behaviour.

In London, we don’t say what we mean. We circle it gently with niceties and wait for the other person to understand.

• “Would you mind possibly taking a quick look at this, when you have a moment?”
  = This is urgent. Please look now.

• “Not bad, actually.”
  = I’m thrilled, but don’t want to seem overexcited.

It’s not dishonesty — it’s a cultural softness. A way of smoothing the edges. But it’s confusing as hell if you’re learning English from the outside.

When I moved to Bosnia, I started noticing how direct everyone is — especially in Serbian.
You don’t ask “Would you mind opening the window?” You say “Open the window.”

And it’s not rude. It’s efficient. It's clear.

It made me realise how much of my English relied on tone, context, and a kind of shared cultural theatre — one that doesn’t always translate well outside the UK.

Working in London gave me an entire sub-language of corporate expressions I now find hilarious:

• “Let’s circle back on this.”

• “I’m just jumping on a quick call.”

• “We need to leverage this touchpoint.”

Try translating those into Serbian and you’ll either confuse people or make them laugh. I’ve slowly let go of the buzzwords — and my emails are better for it.

London trained me to pad and soften — not out of fear, but habit.
Now, living here, I’ve started to write more like people speak.

• Shorter sentences.

• Less filler.

• More honesty.

And ironically, that’s improved my English — and my translations — more than any grammar course ever could.

I still love London English — the irony, the understatement, the rhythm of it.
But I’ve learned to shift. To code-switch.
To speak in a way that travels.

And maybe that’s the best kind of English: Not one tied to a postcode, but one that listens first, then speaks.