January 7. Andrew reported after 'false' business name claim

All families tell lies about themselves, these lies are usually minor, often unintentional, or at worst, drafted to keep people happier than the truth.

These lies frequently dwindle into unreliable memories and vague feelings, ill-formed thoughts that occasionally pop above ground briefly like dozy gophers before being malleted back into a comfortable lawn, or with no more difficulty, an unloved tarmacked backyard.

Very rarely are these revelations dramatically revealed at banquets or gathered around a board room in a glass skyscraper, despite what writers and film makers continue to peddle. People gasping and shouting, some crying, others swearing, threatening and gesticulating.

No, this isn’t how most of us carry on, not the way we address inaccurate familial facts, especially those of us who are born and bred in unfashionable areas of the Northeast of England but unfortunately for my Uncle Andrew, the third generation to run our, what has been called, artisan jam making company, he wasn’t one of those lucky enough to keep his gophers hidden underground.

Sometimes if your world lacks sparkle, and you feel someone else is to blame, it’s easy enough to become the hero in your own story, mistreated but vengeful, and, if it’s drama you want, and you want it enough, it’s not that difficult to obtain.