If you’ve ever attended a British pantomime, you’ll know it’s not really a theatre performance.It’s a cultural fever dream wrapped in tinsel, slapstick, and audience participation, fueled by mince pies and the collective December delirium of the entire nation.

If you’ve ever found yourself in a British supermarket confidently asking for “cookies,” only to be led to a tiny aisle of chocolate-chip-specific items while the entire rest of the baked-goods universe is labeled “biscuits,” congratulations—you’ve just stepped into one of the great linguistic battlegrounds of our time. Welcome to the debate of:Cookie vs. Biscuit.

There’s something quietly tender about the whole ritual.It’s not about being grumpy.It’s about being human—together. Because beneath every British moan is a tiny message:

It’s not quite humility, not quite insecurity. It’s something more intricate — a kind of social aikido, a preemptive strike of modesty before anyone dares to call you confident.

My introduction to British eccentric festivals was via the infamous Cooper’s Hill Cheese-Rolling. Imagine hundreds of people hurtling down a steep hill, chasing a wheel of Double Gloucester cheese. People tumble, bounce, and occasionally fly through the air—all for the glory of catching—or at least surviving—the cheese. I’ll admit it: my first reaction was to laugh, then gasp, then question my own sanity for living somewhere this wild.

British life is full of small traditions and quirks that don’t always make sense at first—tea breaks, queuing etiquette, calling cookies “biscuits.” But football chants? They’re a reminder that, here, sport isn’t just a game. It’s community. It’s culture.

Every November, Brits gather to celebrate the fact that a man named Guy Fawkes failed to blow up Parliament in 1605. How do they mark this historic non-event? By burning his effigy on a massive bonfire while eating toffee apples and cheering. Yes, really.

So if you’re visiting London and you ask for “chips” with your sandwich, don’t be surprised if you’re handed a plate of thick, steaming fries instead of a packet of Walkers.

Honestly, some of them sound like they were made up after a few too many pints, others are so charming you want to move there just for the postcode, and then there are those that make you go, hang on, how do you even pronounce that?

Who knew there were more accents than just posh and cockney?

After living in the UK for over two years, I’ve learned a lot—from navigating the NHS and understanding the obsession with tea, to...