When our parents have got over being dewy-eyed over their new chick and stopped making cooing noises to us, they embark on a crash course of turning little bundle of joy into a responsible member of society, by ramming a long series of "don'ts" down it's throat. Usually high in the top 20 of these is telling lies. I'd like to take a bet that every one of us has had "You lie to me and I'll tan your bum" thrown at him after Mummy and Daddy suddenly face up to the fact that little bundle is no different from any other little horror and can look them straight in the eye while lying like the clappers.
What is not realised is that lying is a natural instinct and as such should be cultivated and taught properly like any other subject. An 'O' level in lying ought to be a must as a qualification for any job worth having and certainly no candidate for local or parliamentary election should be accepted without a first class degree in fabrication.
The largest participant sport in the country is the noble art of angling and non-followers just can't make out why. The answer is obvious - it gives the best opportunity for the human race to give free reign to one of it's basic instincts in all it's various degrees - the natural urge to lie.
I am not a good fisherman for one good reason and that is I am not a good liar. It's got nothing to do with catching fish, just that I can't stretch the truth in the subtle way of the top class angler. Believe me, I've tried it, but after seeing the look of pitying disbelief in the eyes of my audience, I gave up trying and now only tell the truth. I used to think I had a touch of death when it came to handling a rod, sat for hours drowning worms, tempting fish with bits of bread, cheese, part-boiled spuds and sausages and never had so much as a knock. This is one of angling's tense moments, when the alert angler drops his hand to his rod like a cowboy going for his gun, because his float has moved and his is ready for the strike. The only time my float moved was when the maggot got hiccups through swallowing too much water, and as for getting a bite, this is when a fish takes a nibble at the bait in a moment of carelessness and by the time you've heaved up the line and got it caught in a hopeless tangle up a tree, it is at the other end of the lake telling all his mates, well the only bites I ever got were from the gnats which put so much poison in me that if I had got a snake bite, the snake would have died first, and I had got resigned to the fact I just hadn't got what it takes to be an angler. Making the tea - yes, humping all the gear for the family - fine, driving miles to a lake teeming with tench, carp, roach, bream all begging to be caught - expert, but as for catching any of them - flippin useless. Until one day when I'd been wondering, as per usual, how the hell can the line tie itself into a cats cradle without being touched by human hands, it suddenly dawned on me that I had never actually seen anyone catch a fish.
Been told about twenty pound pike, three pound roach, monster fish that fought better than my old tom-cat on passion outings, but never seen 'em. All the blokes round the lake had been as motionless as me, hour after hour, except for the odd move when they made a cup of tea or nipped in to the bushes to have a quick pee. I saw the light, nobody catches any, they made it all up, prefabricated the whole bloody issue. That's what they did while they sat there all that time, perfected their tales they would tell to innocent and honest people like me.
In other words, followed natures basic instinct, which causes Mum and Dad's little cherub to swear blind he hasn't been at the jam when it's smeared all round his cake-hole.
The natural urge to lie. From that moment I knew I'd never be a good fisherman and it had nothing to do with lack of expertise or want of trying, just that I am one of natures misfits. A basically honest person who can't tell a good convincing whopper. So I made up my mind there and then, that I'd be what nature made me and tell only the truth.
Strangely enough from that time I started to catch fish, and knowing how ill equipped I was for enlarging upon my petty successes, I have stuck firmly to my resolution - to tell the truth. It's paid well too, as my catches have got bigger and bigger and I have been spared the indignity of going red while telling people of the wonderful fish I have caught. It's a great pity that I am so handicapped in being unable to tell a good lie. This will stop me being a top class fisherman I'm afraid. Just imagine what a really good angler could have made from the carp I got last week when at the lake. I was quite alone, as it was late, and had made my last cast for the day, when the line shot out like an express train and it was only by anchoring my body against a tree that I was able to stop myself being dragged in to the water and it took me two solid hours of playing that fish before I got it tired and near enough to get the landing net under it. Unfortunately, the handle of my net was only made of mild steel and broke under the strain of lifting it clear of the water and the fish got away, so in all honesty I can't claim it as a catch. A good fisherman would have made a fine yarn from that and I'm tempted now and again to have another try at it, but I know my limitations, so I think I'll be content with being truthful and leave the lies to folks who are able to do it with the ease that nature has so luckily endowed upon them.
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