This paper reflects on ‘standards’ in Canadian English in scholarly research and the public debate about English in Canada from a number of viewpoints. The goals of these reflections are three-fold. First, I aim to characterize the chasm between scholarly and public debates about a language ‘standard’ in Canadian English (CanE). While this debate is not new (e.g. Kretzschmar, 2009: 1–5 for a recent example), its application in the Canadian context is a desideratum. Second, I aim to characterize the standard in CanE from a demographic point of view: what is this standard and, above all, which Canadians (and, more importantly, how many) presently speak it? And third, what can linguists who research Canadian English offer to the public, and how can the perceived gap in knowledge be bridged?

The English language was first taken to Ireland in the late twelfth century and enjoyed a modest position in late medieval Irish society, a position which betrayed no sign of the later dominance of English in Ireland as in so many countries to which the language was taken during the period of English colonialism. The fate of the English language after initial settlement was determined by the existence of Irish and Anglo-Norman as widely spoken languages in the country. Irish was the continuation of forms of Celtic taken to Ireland in the first centuries BCE and the native language of the great majority of the population at the time settlers from Britain first arrived in Ireland. Anglo-Norman was the form of French used by the nobility in England and particularly in the marches of south and south-west Wales, the region from which the initial settlers in the south-east of Ireland came.

In recent years, linguists have become interested in ‘interactional’ aspects of English: resources which are used as two or more interlocutors dynamically adapt their expression to an ongoing exchange (Biber et al., 1999: 1045). This process occurs mainly in conversation, but it is also an aspect of informal ‘dialogic’ writing. Features such as intensifiers (They soundreallythick), colloquial discourse markers (You know he'slikeupset that nobody got killed), and quotative forms (Hewent, ‘Gran’, and Granwent, ‘Yeah’) vary so widely and change so rapidly that they have attracted the attention of folk and professional linguists alike, and interesting work now regularly appears in the research literature (see, for example Dailey-O'Cain, 2000, Ito and Tagliamonte, 2003, Anderson, 2006). My purpose in this article is to offer an initial account of geet/git, a vernacular feature used in North East England. Drawing on data from social websites, I explore the range of functions it performs in discourse. In doing so, I hope to contribute to a developing body of research which considers such features not only in terms of their function, but also as markers of geographical identity (see, for example, Macaulay's work on pure in the west of Scotland (2006) and Bucholtz et al. (2007) on hella in Northern California).

The current spread of English across the globe is, as Schneider states (2009: 1), ‘one of the most remarkable, and perhaps unexpected, sociocultural changes of the modern period’. This author states the wish for ‘a single, universal language which would allow all of mankind to communicate with each other directly, but all attempts at constructing such a code artificially have failed in practice. Now, it seems, one has emerged quite naturally’ (Schneider, 2009: 1). On the other hand, other authors (Anderman & Rogers, 2005: 2) report that the emergence of global English has created a homogenised form of communication, and it has made ‘mother tongue speakers fear that, in the process of becoming common property, their native tongue is turning into a “hybrid” language sometimes referred to as Eurospeak within the European Union and more broadly as “McLanguage”' (Anderman & Rogers, 2005: 2). There are, therefore, controversial viewpoints in Europe as regards the spread of English as the lingua franca or global language.

Data collection is now underway for a new corpus of ‘Dutch English’ within the broad scope of World Englishes. This news is often met with suspicion from ELT practitioners, SLA researchers and the average person on the street, Dutch and English L1s alike. How could a Dunglish-style interlanguage arising from ‘imperfect learning’ be cast as legitimate regional variation? Yet this has been a fruitful field for many decades across Asia and Africa, and researchers in Europe are starting to follow suit (see e.g. Erling, 2004; Erling & Bartlett, 2006 for the case of Germany). With English being used for intra-national purposes on the continent all the more frequently, especially in higher education, it is not hard to find examples of regionally flavoured English being more appropriate than any native ‘norm’.

In ‘Murdering the language’ Moya Cannon imagines Ireland as a shore washed over by human tides. Each invasion added fresh layers to landscape, community and language, until:

The global expansion of the use of English throughout the last decade has had significant implications for its instruction around the world. Among the issues that have arisen as a result of this expansion has been the selection of appropriate phonological models in the English language classroom. Specifically this particular issue has hinged on the question of whether it is more appropriate to encourage English language learners to strive towards the goal of a particular native variety of English pronunciation, or to promote an alternative target. This question has provoked much discussion, and has been the subject of occasionally heated debate (e.g. Jenkins, 1998, 2000; Scheuer, 2005, 2008; Seidlhofer & Jenkins, 2003).

Are contractions like don't and it's typical of ‘modern’ English? To what extent were they present in early modern English? This paper endeavours to answer these questions. However, it also sets out to answer another one: early modern English had a set of contractions of its own, and the question is why they disappeared and whether they are still in any way relevant to contemporary English.

A 2003 Irish short film called Yu Ming is Ainm Dom (My name is Yu Ming) by director Daniel O'Hara describes the experiences of a young Chinese man called Yu Ming who comes to Ireland in search of work. As he prepares to leave China he reads in a travel guide that Gaeilge (or Irish) is the first official language of Ireland and therefore sets out on an intensive learning course. On his arrival in Dublin Yu Ming is delighted to see public signage in Irish that he can understand. At the airport he finds his bealach amach (Way Out) and catches a bus to an lár (the city centre). However, his initial communication with local people in perfect Irish is met with strange looks and confusion with many Dubliners under the impression that they are listening to Chinese. Yu Ming eventually begins a conversation in Irish with an old man in a pub who explains to a perplexed Yu Ming that “Ní labhraítear Gaeilge anseo, labhraítear Béarla anseo – ó Shasana!” (“Irish isn't spoken here – English is spoken here, from England!”). Yu Ming leaves Dublin and finds work in rural western Ireland where the old man has suggested he should go.

This paper assesses efforts being made to promote and expose a Cameroonian local language, Kamtok, to the global, intellectual community and to integrate and promote a global language in the Cameroonian context. Kamtok carries the ecology, culture and identity of Cameroon, besides being one of the most widely spoken languages in the country. The global language which is the focus of this discourse is English, considering that its use is no longer restricted to any particular country. The language, like other colonial linguistic legacies, was transported through colonialism and transplanted in different parts of the world, including Cameroon, and is now serving communication needs beyond the frontiers of its original seat. It is therefore claimed in this paper that Kamtok, like many Cameroonian indigenous languages, is relegated to the background and hidden from the global community, paradoxically because it carries the ecology and identity of Cameroon, and English, like other global languages, is being localized and promoted in the Cameroonian context with every iota of passion and vigour. This type of tendency is predictably rooted in the colonial history or in what Bokamba (2007: 41) calls a ‘ukolonia’ tendency whereby the colonised people were indoctrinated to believe that everything of theirs, including their indigenous languages and culture, was inferior and barbaric. Interestingly, English in Cameroon, unlike Kamtok, has an official recognition and is one of the official languages used for state transactions; it is taught in most, if not all, Cameroonian schools and the variety spoken in Britain is most often the classroom target, though this is done with little or no success; it has been the focus of many research works carried out by local researchers; and its vigorous promotion has even led to the banning of an important Cameroonian language, as shall be discussed later. Kamtok, on the other hand, has witnessed, and is still witnessing, many turbulent moments, such as the open and official banning of its use in some public circles, the complete absence of educational and political efforts to promote it, lack of standardisation, misrepresentation of its developmental status by both scholars and laypeople, and lack of scholarly interest from local researchers.

This article serves as a commentary on the current position of ‘Standard English’ in the Shetland Islands, the northernmost part of the British Isles. Experience gained during linguistic fieldwork over a ten-year period suggests that there is a need to re-examine this issue, not least in view of societal changes. It will be argued that Shetland is by now a locality of relevance for those with an interest in standards of English, as well as Scots, and suggestions will also be made regarding potential future directions for research into Shetland English.

The Japanese linguistic landscape is a dynamically vibrant area with words and phrases appearing in a vast array of locations written in a wide range of scripts, fonts, sizes and colours, and all serving a complex and interconnected array of functions. This visual landscape of shop signs, street signs, advertising posters, information boards and vending machines is complemented by a similar vibrancy and dynamism in more private domains such as restaurant menus, product packaging, clothing, newspaper articles, magazine stories and TV advertising. Immediately striking an observer of these contexts is the fact that, although the Japanese language has a highly complex writing system incorporating an admixture of logographic, syllabic and alphabetic characters, a great many of the words and phrases in Japanese social contexts are transcribed in Latin alphabet characters. Because the vast majority of these lexical items are either direct imports of words from the English language (often termed ‘loanwords' or ‘borrowings') or domestic creations based on English vocabulary (often termed ‘wasei eigo'/‘Japan-created English'), those who are familiar with the English language are assisted in their orientation around Japan by this pervasive use of English-based vocabulary.

‘C-a-t, cat. Cat mane billi; r-a-t, rat mane chooha’ went a song from a Hindi film of the fifties (mane = ‘means’, billi = ‘cat’, chooha = ‘rat’). The song, enormously popular with Indian youth of that generation, was scoffed at by the then contemporary purists who found it hard to accept such ‘blatant’ dilution of the Hindi language. This song, like a few more of its times, was merely an exception to the largely acceptable language of songs, then largely a mix of Hindi, Urdu and Persian. English was, thus, used in songs either when it depicted (literally, since songs are acted out as autonomous scenes in Bollywood) a comic actor in a light-hearted situation or a semi-literate character desperate to accommodate to the urban ways of life. A celebrated song from Gopi, a Hindi film of the early seventies, goes a step forward with its novel coinage. The hero is a rustic who tries to impress his fellow villagers by dressing up in city (read English) style and sings:

Gentleman gentleman, gentleman/London se aaya mein ban-than ke……
Yeh dekh mera suita/Yeh dekh mera boota/Yeh dekh mera comba

No matter where you are in the world, English seems to have its own way of cropping up, and the Gulf is no exception. Drive through the Omani–Emirati border crossing at Mazyad and a sign on the Emirati side announces, ‘Helping support AIDS’. Turn on KTV2, a state-run television channel broadcast out of Kuwait, and an English subtitle reads, ‘May God give you long life’; scan the headlines of the Gulf News and read, ‘Emiratisation is vital for the country’; eavesdrop on an expatriate Indian family ordering lunch in the food court at the Muscat City Centre mall and hear, ‘Give me the biriyani chicken’, ‘Give me the thali set’; follow a Bahraini Twitter tweeter and read, ‘say the truth don't fabricate BHR’.

Language change is inevitable. If it wasn't, English learners would all be trying to sound like King Alfred. There is never a period of stability in language and the only languages which have reached a kind of equilibrium are those like Latin where are there are no longer any native speakers. The pressure for change on English is particularly high because of its global status and the diversity of contexts in which it operates. In 2006 David Graddol (p. 101) stated that in 2010 two billion people would be learning English. The size of the figures involved makes it impossible to verify whether this prediction was accurate but Graddol's most recent publication (2010: 68) states that up to 350 million people may speak English in India alone. Obviously, most of these English users around the world speak it as a second language. Consequently, any discussion of change in modern English must take into account the input of those who have had to learn English. The purpose of this article is to present examples of learner language which demonstrate principles and mechanisms of language change through the much-discussed phenomenon of language play.

Standard English need not be a matter of prescriptivism or any attempt to ‘create’ a particular standard, but, rather, can be a matter of observation of actual linguistic behaviour. For Hudson (2000), standard English is the kind of English which is written in published work, which is spoken in situations where published writing is most influential – especially in university level education and so in post-university professions – and which is spoken ‘natively’ at home by the ‘professional class’, i.e. people who are most influenced by published writing. In the papers in Bex and Watts (eds, 1999), it is recurrently claimed that, when speaking English, what the ‘social group with highest degree of power, wealth or prestige’ or more neutrally ‘educated people’ or ‘socially admired people’ speak is the variety known as ‘standard English’. However, ‘standard English’ may also mean that shared aspect of English which makes global communication possible. This latter perspective allows for two meanings of ‘standard’: it may refer both to an idealised set of shared features, and also to different sets of national features, reflecting different demographic and political histories and language influences. The methodology adopted in the International Corpus of English (henceforth ICE – cf. Greenbaum, 1996) enables us to observe and investigate each set of features, showing what everybody shares and also what makes each national variety of English different.