Big Fat Liar


Anyone here read my last blog?

It’s here if you want to check it out.

Anyway, the denouement of the blog was that it was the final one. Ever. No more blogs. Finnito. Over. Ne blogger pas.

(It actually created a bit of stir: Literally 6 people expressed some dismay at the blogging ending)

Which raises the obvious question – what on earth is this about? How come I’m writing (and you’re reading) another blog?

The answer is simple – I’m a big fat liar.

The whole blog was actually a smorgasbord of whoppers: Prison Break season 3 is actually not that bad, the blogging actually peaked around autumn 18 (Venn, Carpe Diem and Blue Stars were definitely my best work so far), and there are not 58 better magic blogs than this one. Seriously, don’t even go there. I’ve leafed through most of the competition, and they’re bloody awful. Samey, self promoting shite. Nothing like this blog at all.

I don’t actually think there was a true word in the entire blog.

And you’ve got to be wondering why?

Is it because being a liar has become terribly fashionable lately? Our noble premier himself has made fibbing the must have accessory for Autumn/Winter 19/20. My particular favourites; “The Heathrow Bulldozers”, “The ditch”, “There’s no domestic disturbance going on here officer”, “Of course I have a plan”, “I know exactly how many children I have” and, “Of course it’s legal your majesty”. Ooh – I forgot the bus. And countless others. (There is a maximum recommended limit to the number of words in a blog, so I’d best stop here.)

No. That’s not the reason.

The thing is, lying is my job…

The clue is in the phrase – a magic trick.

The raison d’etre of magic is to trick. To fool. To bamboozle and astonish. And one doesn’t do that by being honest. Magic tricks are just fibs. And I’m quite good at magic tricks. Therefore, I’m quite good at fibbing too. (I’m also quite good at forgery – I’ve got a certificate to prove it.)

Can you imagine what it would be like if we “professional deceivers” were actually honest. It would be ridiculous.

“Go on. Choose one of these cards. It really doesn’t matter which. I’ve got 52 queen of clubs”

“Behold! A deceptively small cabinet! It looks empty, but there’s a scantily clad tiger hiding in the base”

“Look Liz. This is dodgy even for me. It’s going to cause a constitutional shitstorm the likes of which we’ve never seen. But if you could wave it through, I’ve got a crate of gin with your name on it and a couple of swan baguettes”

See what I mean? Some lines of work just lend themselves to fibbing.


Ah, It’s good to be back – expect another blog within the next month.



Though you might not believe a word I say anymore…