Liar, liar my pants are on fire!

Recently, I have been making a concerted effort to reduce the amount of lies that I tell on a day to day basis. About a year ago I had a minor epiphany while contemplating the harrowing dissolution of a long-term relationship. I came to conclusion (was told) that I am a bit of a deceitful turd. After realising that the claim being made was pretty legitimate, I decided to stop being a gargantuan pussy, and adopted a policy of embracing confrontation when appropriate. Obviously I still avoid conflict when it embodies potential physical risk. My name's Jack Scragg not Jackie Chan! (My name's not Jack Scragg either).

I have so far been relatively successful in this endeavour, and am generally no longer telling pointless lies to friends or ladyfolk. For example, if a pal calls me up and asks if I 'fancy heading to the Heath to play some Frisbee', rather than making up some bullshit excuse like: "Sorry Josh, I can't, I'm visiting my Senile Aunt." I will just tell the truth: "Sorry Josh, I'm not up for that, as I HATE Frisbee." Simple. This innovative approach to social relations has totally enhanced my quality life. Being continually entangled in an ever expanding, self-created web of lies is both exhausting, and a constant source of anxiety. My name's Jack Scragg (lie) not the Itsy Bitsy Spider.

Inevitably there have been some rocky moments on the this path of truth. I have been punched in the face by one girl, had a Nokia launched into my eyeball (same girl, different incident) and have provoked numerous quizzical eyebrows. Of course, when abandoning a habit of a lifetime there will be the occasional lapse, and my true nature will emerge. Here's just three examples of cowardly and/or deceitful behaviour that have been exhibited by myself in the last month alone:

1. Me and the girl that sits next to me at work have recently taken to using a secret jar of nice coffee to do our hot drink round with. This is because the communal coffee we used to endure is some fair trade shit that tastes like canned fish. To avoid having our costly, but far tastier coffee being depleted too quickly, we keep 'the special stuff' in my neighbour's draw. When it's time to do a tea round we have smuggle the jar in and out of the staff kitchen like Alan Partridge and his giant plate.

Humiliatingly, I was caught out on Tuesday whilst making a batch of hot drinks with our special jar of cafe noir, and when confronted about it I betrayed my colleague without hesitation: "Yeah, this is Elizabeth's special coffee, she doesn't seem to like the fair trade stuff." I shook my head and then gave a resigned 'What's she like?' roll of the eyes as I trotted off with my tray of beverages. Sorry Liz.

2. One Saturday afternoon I was recovering in my local watching a nondescript football match, I had managed to work myself into a pretty pleasant state of hungover reverie which was then ruined by an irritatingly jaunty phone call from my Father. His attempts to arrange a rendezvous for the next day held no appeal, so rather than telling him that I wouldn't be up to the job of entertaining him that Sunday morning, I instead cited an invented wedding in Guildford. The following weekend I met my dad and had to fabricate an entire wedding ceremony plus garden party. I even told him that I pulled a bird with a big hat. This was a textbook example of the multilayered lie; the three-tiered wedding cake of the lie world. Sorry Dad.

3. I told a girl that I once threatened to headbutt the hat-wearing guitarist from 'The Kooks'. Must have been in a bad place when I came out with this one. I think this dubious boast was meant to convey an image of myself as a 'hardman with indie credentials'. Needless to say I went home alone on this occasion. Sorry semi-attractive girl and hat-wearing guitarist from 'The Kooks'.