Deceit and why we let Wogan lie to us all

IT’S astonishing how much of our life is predicated on fraud, decept i on or dishonesty. There are big frauds that deserve our wrath, such as banks selling you things you don’t need, using urgent jargon that you don’t understand.

Ditto the deceit of a Scottish First Minister who claims to have had legal advice on Scotland’s ability to remain in the EU until his deputy Nicola Sturgeon revealed that no advice had actually been sought.

Then there are the frauds that have some pathos, such as a less than deft attempt to claim a £33million lottery prize with a literally laundered ticket, apparently left in a jeans pocket and washed to the point that the barcode details were rendered indistinct.

And the defamation jury is still out on whether German adventurer Martin Szwed could really break the solo speed ski record to the South Pole by completing a distance equivalent to two marathons a day for a fortnight in subzero temperatures, whilst pulling a loaded sledge – or if there is an alternative explanation, perhaps involving Photoshop.

Much further down are tiny dayto- day deceits – moisturisers that claim to vanquish wrinkles, electrical shops punting extended warranties as being worth anything at all, or gourmets making a huge fuss about the deliciousness of caviar, when at best it tastes like fishy bubble-wrap. Or that a university degree indicates that you are clever, rather than adept at passing exams: I have a law degree, but you would not want me to sell your house, draw up your will or defend you on a murder charge.

ALMOST everything New Age is a cross between a swindle and wishful thinking, from homeopathic cures to wind chimes. Actually, the hope that underpins homeopathy is understandable, but there’s absolutely no scientific way to explain why anyone buys wind chimes.

They impress nobody because they look like a starter pack from a growyour- own aluminium tube plant. And after this weekend of high winds, surely nobody still believes that they are in any way soothing. Wind chimes... for when the wind on its own won’t keep you awake.

At the very bottom of the scale are deceptions such as pretending to follow football, enjoy jazz solos or enthuse over the BBC’s Dickensian, a series that dripped all the way through Christmas and into 2016 like a roof leak you thought you’d had fixed. Dickensian makes no sense, whether or not you read Dickens, because it takes his characters and relocates them to a timeline in order to tell a story only slightly less exciting than a game of Cluedo.

I would have been a lot less bored if they had uploaded Dickens characters, transplanted them to a large walled suburban house for a month, forced them into pointless tasks such as pole dancing, parading their poo to Gillian McKeith, or baring their souls in the Diary Room, and then started voting them off.

All of this could be narrated with a broad Geordie commentary and watched with the vague hope that Miss Havisham might cop off with Ebenezer Scrooge.

On the other hand, Terry Wogan practised the best kind of deception: his radio show suggested that first thing in the morning, we were witty and engaged, rather than sleepy and irritable. When watching hopeless Europop, he regarded us as armchair connoisseurs of the awful. And he seemed to be speaking to each of us directly – when in fact he was broadcasting to a nation.