Words have always crept. We don’t have roast cow with our Yorkshire pudding on Sundays - we eat beef. Political decisions aren’t decided in a moot hall - they are made (ideally) in Parliament. If you live in a single-storey house, you probably call it a bungalow (origin: Hindustani ‘banglā’). Our language has been shaped by the prevailing culture throughout our history - successive invaders brought their own languages with them. Beef and Parliament were introduced by the Normans when they conquered England, and the British in India adopted local words which they brought home with them - I should think the word bungalow might have seemed quite exotic when it was first used by suburban property developers. The words themselves are just words - what makes our hackles rise is when they remind us that things change, and the most annoying are those which make us feel that we are no longer in control of the English language. It is a fact that there are far more speakers of American English than there are of British English, and it’s not surprising that we can feel defensive, as though we are being invaded all over again. But people often comfortably accept foreign words that have more positive associations, for example foods originally sampled on holiday, such as paella, which might be washed down with sangria, or pizza followed by an espresso ... and either of which meals might result in the need for a siesta.