THEY came to the door while I was still in my dressing gown. There were two of them, female, middle-aged, smiling and smartly attired. "Good morning," they said. "Lovely morning, isn't it? We've come for your clothes."

Perhaps I should have simply gone along with the idea, run upstairs, bundled yesterday's pile of off-casts into a carrier bag and handed them over with the advice to "go easy on the starch".

But somehow I knew they weren't after my laundry. So I apologised, as you do in these circumstances, not because you've done something wrong but because you don't really know what to say.

"Sorry, I'm not quite with you.....my clothes?"

The larger woman beamed. "Yes, we left a plastic sack in the doorway on Tuesday, for you to fill."

Why, I wondered, would they want my clothes. Their clothes looked far superior to anything I could, or would, afford.

"It's for charity," the large woman's small companion said. "There was a note with the sack - it explained everything."

Time for another apology. "Sorry. Yes, I do remember a sack being left on the doorstep, but I'm afraid I haven't got anything for you. I've not had time to look...."

And then I lied. "There's been an illness in the family."

Isuppose I felt this excuse sounded more acceptable than merely admitting I was too lazy to gather a few bits and bobs together for charity.

"Oh, sorry!" the two Sisters of Mercy chirruped. "Could we have our sack back then?"

Well, yes they could but unfortunately it was full - full of weeds and other assorted horticultural rubbish from a weekend's gardening.

So, second lie coming up. "I'm so sorry - I'm afraid I used it to carry extra blankets to my mother's, she's really not at all well," I replied.

In the distance I saw the mother approaching, carrying newspapers and the shopping I'd asked her to pick up earlier because I was, "too busy" (a sort of lie, I'd actually got up late).

At this point I remembered a little rhyme from childhood. "Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive."

Iwas raised on this premise and following it got me into a lot of trouble, especially at school.

"Vanora! Are you chewing in class?"

"Yes miss." Two hundred lines of "I must not chew...."

"Vanora! Where's your homework?"

"Haven't done it miss." Five hundred lines of "I must do my homework...."

"Vanora! Were you hiding in the lavatories during games again?"

"Yes miss." Seven hundred lines of "I must not hide....."

It got harder as I got older. I learnt to be wary of people who asked: "Tell me honestly...." I lost a lot of friends by doing just that.

"Vanora, tell me honestly, do I look fat in this dress?"

"Yes, you look enormous!"

"Vanora, TMH, do I really look 40?"

"Yes, nearer 50 I'd say."

"Vanora, TMH, am I really the best-looking man you've ever been out with?"

"No, but you're certainly the ugliest."

So, eventually I started lying, for the good of my social life. And things have certainly picked up. I now go out with the handsomest men and have gorgeous friends who are forever slim and always look 39.

And yes, the pigs are fed and ready to fly.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.