In a week when Conservatives set up a Labour manifesto website and the US president was alleged to have pushed a false theory that Ukraine meddled in the 2016 election, there has been strong competition for the most shameless porkie told in public life. But it was in Santon Bridge, western Cumbria, where the officially designated world’s biggest liar was crowned this week.
Each November the best dissemblers on the planet gather in the isolated hamlet to tell the most elaborate fibs. The contest is open to all but Westminster MPs, who are deemed to be “professionals” in an amateur arena. (Lawyers used to be banned but are no longer on the proscribed list.) The wheeze has its roots in the 19th century, when a shepherd-turned-publican called Will Ritson became known for serving up a yarn with every pint at his pub in the nearby Wasdale valley.
The area was already famed for its superlatives, boasting England’s deepest lake (Wastwater) and its highest mountain (Scafell Pike). Before long it was also the place to go to hear the tallest tales. The poet William Wordsworth and essayist Thomas De Quincey were said to have enjoyed one of Ritson’s whoppers, but given Ritson most likely made that claim himself you may want to take it with a grain of salt.
Almost 130 years after Ritson’s death, the contest now takes place in the Bridge Inn, seven miles inland from the Sellafield nuclear facility. It has become a rather more formal affair, held in the brightly lit function suite, with tickets sold for £12, including a Cumberland “tatie pot” supper, a hearty stew of mystery meat and potatoes.
Entrants must lie for between two and eight minutes. Dialects are permitted – chucking in a bit of Cumbrian slang is a reet barrie way to a podium place – and any overseas entrants must provide their own interpreter. No “mechanical aids” are allowed, which in Cumbria also means scripts and prompt cards. The competition tends to be dominated by men, with the comedian Sue Perkins the only female victor, in 2006.
First up in 2019 was six-time winner Mike Naylor, nephew of the fell runner and author Joss Naylor (or so he says). Wearing a T-shirt bearing his nickname, Monkey Liar, and boasting of last year’s victory, the pink-cheeked agricultural salesman (or so he says) stood up and announced his shock retirement. It was a lie, of course, and he returned as the surprise final entrant at the end of the night to talk some nonsense about Whitehaven seagulls being contracted by Weight Watchers to nick people’s chips on the prom.
In the end, Naylor was pushed into third place by a living, breathing, lying embodiment of the media’s new favourite stereotype: Workington Man. Phillip Gate, a 45-year-old data information architect (or so he says), won on his first attempt after watching and learning the ropes in previous years.
He prevailed with a convoluted story about how west Cumbrians came to call each other “jam eaters”, an insult traded between Whitehaven and Workington folk that – according to the Whitehaven News at least – is a taunt about not being able to afford meat for their butties. Gate came up with an alternative theory, about the region being rich not just in coal but also sugar, with underground “sugar seams” absorbing into hedges, creating every flavour of jam.
Accepting his trophy, world’s biggest liar tie and beanie hat, Gate said he was thrilled, but was just a minnow compared with politicians, the big fish of the lying world: “That’s the next league up.”