The Lost Prince of Wythenshawe
When I was a young teenager in the early 1970s, my mate's mum had a neighbour who was big, loud, genial and totally overbearing. She arrived at his house with a runt of a man one day who, it turned out, was her husband, Ray. Turns out Ray had a reputation as a bullshitter, although that word barely touched the sides where he was concerned.

My favourite Rayism was the time he claimed he'd been waved down (he was a cab driver) by a man wearing a jacket with gold rings on the sleeves. 'Can you help me?', says the man. "I'm a bit lost. I'm looking for Manchester Airport."

Ray was only too delighted to help, especially when the man revealed he was a helicopter pilot who had landed his machine in the fields over the road, and his VIP passenger - Prince Philip, no less - had to get to an important engagement at the airport. Despite the fact that the airport was only a half-hour walk from where they were (and could be seen from the top balcony of a small block of flats) they'd got lost, so if Ray would oblige by driving to the airport, they'd fly behind, following his car. Which, of course, they did and Ray was personally thanked by Phil the Greek for his assistance at a critical time.

I've come across a few fantasists over the years and I have always been slightly fascinated by them. They totally, utterly believe the shit they come out with, think nothing of any impracticalities and just expect everybody to believe the most outlandish tales without blinking an eye. I always wondered if the mundanities of life (and perhaps a hideously overbearing spouse) force the imagination to squeeze itself out of all sorts of mental orifices in all sorts of twisted ways.

Still, better than the telly. Well, it was then, anyway.
(zebideedoodah likes florence but prefers venice, Sun 8 Jun 2014, 15:01, 7 replies)

Trouble is, people who don't know the liar are taken in by them.
I work with a bloke who's done a bit of Kung Poo or something. He reckons that his physical fitness and martial arts prowess make his body a Deadly Weapon, to the extent that if he were in a fight he'd be charged with a special category of assault all of his own because he'd wreak such damage on even the strongest man.

This is his favourite story. He has many others - saving other holidaymakers' lives when their boat sank, giving minor royals the kiss of life, the usual sort of thing.

As we have a high staff turnover there's usually some new face for him to impress for a bit. They soon get wise to him. He is fat and lives with his parents, and he cried when a workmate played a cushion-over-the-door type prank on him.

When he starts telling me a load of rubbish I just turn my back and walk away, and he follows me, trying to finish the story, giving up only when duty calls or I walk into the Ladies'. He is never offended by this behaviour. Strange.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Sun 8 Jun 2014, 16:12, closed)

Funnily enough, I also know one like that...
.. whose training was so deadly that in any altercation he didn't dare react because even the lifting of a finger was enough to kill. Also that he was licensed by the government, whose retribution would be swift and deadly were he to demonstrate his knowledge to the public at large. A win-win, as far as he was concerned, given that the biggest trap these people fall into is when they're called on to either prove or demonstrate their lies.

Eventually I came to the conclusion that his preferred style of porn starred Bruce Lee.
(zebideedoodah likes florence but prefers venice, Sun 8 Jun 2014, 19:06, closed)

Apparently there are two types of liars - compulsive liars, who know they are lying but can't stop
And pathological liars, who convince themselves and then get angry when people don't join in with their delusions.

Shambo will be along to tear this apart shortly, but that's what I read somewhere
( rachelswipe with a fork, Sun 8 Jun 2014, 17:12, closed)

LIES!

( The Awful Puppy Bakery is still bored, Sun 8 Jun 2014, 17:32, closed)

I read your mum's number in a kings cross phone box

( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Sun 8 Jun 2014, 19:58, closed)

Nonsense, it is in the public toilets in Alderley Edge.

( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 8:51, closed)

Oooooh, posh fanny...

(zebideedoodah likes florence but prefers venice, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 22:03, closed)