Insanity Crash: Lying Down - The Moment We Realise Our Untruths.

Oh what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive!

Sir Walter Scott:
Marmion. Canto vi. Stanza 17.


As today I am having trouble writing something worthwhile to the blog, I will once again delve into my dark and dreary history and unveil another hilarious story of my childhood and what happens when you forgot that sometimes Grown-ups do in fact have an idea what is going on, and exactly where, at the time, you think you can out smart them, and now, being “a grown up” you realise that you were being stupid, and quite impressively so.

The first instance is the lesson children learn about lying. I can’t remember the first time I found out about lying, and I am interested in someone who has experience in childhood psychology who would have a good idea about when and we learn about not telling the truth, and the epiphany it must be, but nonetheless, the feeling the first you lied must have been amazing, but the feeling the first time you realised you had been backed into a corner, and your lie was getting worse every time you said it, is one of the worst feelings I can remember as a child. One these such instances ring out so true I can't believe that I would have the stupidity and audacity to even try it on with the parents of the time.

One year at Christmas my dad introduced his old Scalextrix to me for this first time, and it blew me away. I still have a romantic link to the small electricity powered race cars that spin around the track (mostly off it), and really enjoyed playing with them, though I took a little too much excitement out building and modifying the track. Anyone who has known me for years will know that I love Lego, and have made the decision to go and get my Lego from my parents so I can play with it up here. Does that sound childish to you? The funny thing is, I don't really care; Lego was always quite an inventive toy and the imagination that I bred whilst creating bridges, cars, buildings and other structures are probably why I get excited about those exact same things now - and why can't I still play with them? But we are slowly falling off the tangent. On Christmas day I was given an amazing present - my own set of cars for Scalextrix. A Ford Monday and a Ford Sierra Police Car, which when it drove around the track, had lights on the top of it that actually flashed! It was like Police Camera Action! All over my bedroom.

So, I was happily playing with my sister with the two cars, and she jumped off the bed, and the pillow dropped onto the track, blocking the cars. My police car raced into the Pillow, and it stopped dead making small plasticy squealing noises as it struggled to go past the feather mountain. I thought this was so cool, and continued to burn the tires, eventually burning out the car's little puny motor. And the lights stopped flashing.

The car still ran, but the lights were a dead give away, and under the interrogation my sister and I professed we had done nothing, and nothing, and nothing. They knew.

Another is the famous Kitchen Bowls episode, but it would be better if we just leave that as it is.

Another moment where in my childhood a lie spun unbelievably out of control was the first time I went to Craig McCormick's house after school. I walked up, and as it was autumn, it was dark by the time I had to go home for dinner at 5.20pm, to be back for 5.30pm. When I arrived, Mrs McCormick ushered me in and was very friendly, and then I uttered the most amazing thing. She asked "Will you be getting a lift home?" and I went "No, my Dad's car has been in an accident, and he can't pick me up, I'll just walk home." What? There was no accident, and at what point did I think I would get away with this one was amazing, as I left it and totally forgot about the slip of the tongue into lie mode; next week I was picked up by my Mum, and, sure enough, Mrs McCormick asked "How is you husband?" to which my Mum answered "Fine…why?" Bollocks. The thing is that it must have been so embarrassing to my Mum, to Craig's Mum, and for me it was like "Bastard, it is their fault". It was not. I made these easily verifiable mistakes a few times over the course of my childhood; once in Primary I wrote in my News Diary that my Dad had became a Fireman, which was never going to happen. I made such a good story out of it, and drew such a good picture, I got a star for my table, but when it was found out to be fabrication at parents evening, again, my parents must have been rather embarrassed, but I am sure amongst the grown-ups the laughter must have been flowing.

Basically the lesson is kids, don't lie. But if you do, make sure it impossible for it to be easily found out, and don't be there when it is.