I learnt what a white lie was in a Sainsbury's car park when I was about seven. Someone asked my Mother whether she had any
I've had almost twenty four years of being a parent, and with a large age difference between the oldest and youngest, roughly twenty one years of fibbing my head off about various matters. At this time of year of course, the culprit is Santa Claus or Father Christmas.
Our cynicism, potentially a useful protection mechanism against being cheated, has become our acquiescence. We expect our leaders to lie, so they do. As a result, maybe we get the leaders our cynicism deserves. Or, you tell me, am I being naïve for expecting better than this?
Was I cross at my mother when I found out Father Christmas wasn't real? Did her lying to me destroy her parental trustworthiness? No. There was a sense of sadness losing Santa, but I would not want little me to have truth over hope, over magic.
I want you to lie to me if you don't like the food, the colour of the dress I am making you wear, the flowers, the first song, the hotel rooms, the hen do location... I want you to lie and lie really bloody good, as I have for all of you and will continue to do for those who get married.
We need to remember that negotiation sometimes requires us to behave in ways that might not come naturally to us. We might be confronted by negotiators who are firm, tough, direct or rejecting. How might that make us feel?
Where do we stand on telling children why Adam and Steve are holding hands? Is there an appropriate age that something like this should be discussed or is it better for the child to discover of their own accord?
"We won't raise taxes", "We will not allow university fees to go up", "We'll cut the deficit" and "Net migration will fall to 100,000." All of these are well-known, fairly recent 'promises' made by politicians which also happen to be, in effect, lies, as the matter was in their control and they failed to carry out on what they said, or pledges which could never be kept as it was not in the their power to do so.
Like most other London dwellers I hate the obvious stuff. I detest getting the tube at rush hour and ending up with my nose nestled into an armpit that hasn't seen Radox for quite some time. I hate that in order to see my oldest and dearest best friends, a calendar comparison marathon ensues and a date is found no sooner than one whole month away.
We don't intend to drink two bottles of wine when we specifically said we were only going to have one glass. That I would call weak-willed. Falling into the world-wide-web I would label as procrastination. And when we say we have learned our lesson and will never date someone 'like that' again, we genuinely mean it.