Mark Palmer on prolific exaggeration

We all exaggerate – but some of us exaggerate more than others.

I belong firmly to the prolific exaggeration wing and would proffer that most people of a certain age are part of that fraternity too. Embroidering the truth from many years ago is one of life’s perks as we reach our later years.

Back in the mists of time, I always felt like an underachiever after getting two Cs and a D in my A-levels but, miraculously, those grades have improved considerably over the years. If asked, I now say I was awarded two As and a B.

Embroidering the truth from many years ago is one of life’s perks

Similarly, a few weeks ago I found myself perched on wooden slats in a hotel sauna when an athletic-looking young American from Boston walked in and sat down next to me. We got chatting. At university, he played football to a high level and one of the reasons he likes coming to Britain is that it gives him a chance to watch a live Premiership game.

"Did you play much when you were younger?" he asked.

"Yes, I did. Quite a lot, actually," I told him. "Semi-professional."

Forgive me – or rather indulge my powers of exaggeration for a second – because of course I was not close to being taken on as a professional. Far from it.

What happened is that I grew up near Reading and at the age of 17 was offered a trial for Berkshire Schoolboys, which was a feeder for Reading Football Club. I duly turned up for the trial game but was taken off after 20 minutes because I was nothing like good enough.

I’m not quite sure how this failure has morphed into a story about how I was nearly on the books of Reading FC, but it has. No harm done. Shows that I took my football seriously and had high ambitions.

Stories get passed from one generation to the next, picking up steam along the way – and that’s no bad thing

I am reminded of what the late Queen Elizabeth said when making an official statement about Prince Harry moving to California after his wife had accused an unnamed member of the Royal Family of making a racist comment.

"Recollections may vary," she said, in what turned out to be one of the most powerful understatements of all time.

Recollections do vary. Stories get passed from one generation to the next, picking up steam along the way – and that’s no bad thing. When we wait 30 minutes or so for a train, the 30 minutes becomes ‘almost an hour’ in the telling.

Likewise, ‘I felt at death’s door’ is easy to trot out when laid up in bed with a bad cold.

Come to think of it, the young exaggerate just as much as older people. "I’ve never felt so hungry in my life," said my daughter the other day when a little peckish.

Exaggeration adds spice to life, and we can all do with some more of that, whatever our age

Embellishing the truth for maximum impact is perfectly acceptable. I remember watching Dame Maggie Smith in the play Lettice and Lovage in the 1980s, when she played the role of a tour guide in a somewhat dreary stately home.

At first, we heard her saying that a previous owner of the house was in the habit of running down the stairs to greet guests, but by the end of the play she was telling her audience that the owner used to slide down the bannisters holding a gin martini in one hand, a copy of The Times in the other.

Exaggeration adds spice to life, and we can all do with some more of that, whatever our age.

The stories we tell about ourselves don’t always have to be accurate. What’s important is getting across the essence. Throwing in some fiction is perfectly acceptable – and the fiction soon becomes fact if recounted enough times!