Let’s face it, we’ve all stretched the truth from time to time. Someone invites you out and you’re not feeling it, so you make up an excuse about being busy so you don’t have to tell them you’re choosing Horlicks and an early night over their company. There is an art to social lying, the elision of unnecessary truth in order to smooth over the jagged edges in relationships, that is frankly necessary and makes life much easier.

However, some people take it all a bit too far. Such as, for example, those around poor Paul Nuttall ... if that’s even his real name. The biography of Mr Nuttall that has appeared at times on his website appears to be a complex farrago of exaggerations, half-truths and untruths that have unravelled as his run for the vacant Stoke-on-Trent Central seat has put him under more scrutiny than usual. Professional sports he’s never played, qualifications he doesn’t have, charities he supposedly sat on the board of that don’t know who he is, all spiralling around the inescapable black hole of the Hillsborough claims.

It is a standard tactic for political parties lacking currency in our authentocratic society to invoke the spirit of the regular working classes through the use of props, costumes and rituals, like a cargo cult of the common man. David Cameron famously forgot which football team he supported, which was seen by many as a tell that his supposed love of the sport was a focus-grouped affectation. Nuttall’s predecessor, Nigel Farage, is a master of the grift, leveraging cigarettes, pints of beer and opposition to the metric system into an apparently unassailable cloak of authenticity draped over his privately educated stockbroker carcass.

Perhaps it was jealousy of Farage’s success that led Nuttall’s helpers – never Nuttall himself, of course – to fly too close to the sun. An ex-professional footballer who lost close friends at Hillsborough but prospered is the “authentic working-class” equivalent of a soldier who stormed the beaches of Normandy on D-Day. It’s a high-risk, high-reward play, with the payoff, if you succeed, being matched by reputational destruction if those untruths are uncovered.

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The strategic mistake was trying for too much specificity. The best currency of authentocracy is, perversely, nothing to do with real working-class experiences, which are, in reality, simply any experiences you have while being working-class and do not follow a fixed and invariant script. Rather, it is about how much one matches up to the officially mandated Sun reader stereotype, which is why Farage’s vagueness has fared better than Nuttall’s fictionalised biography.

Interestingly, old lefties such as John McDonnell are never talked about in terms of their authentic working-class credentials. The purpose of the scam is to prove “real” working-class people are all tiny, angry authoritarians such as Kelvin MacKenzie and Richard Littlejohn. In this carefully cultivated narrative, it is only the out-of-touch middle classes, who don’t live in the real world, who are able to indulge in the luxurious fripperies of socialism. Drawing too much attention to Labour MPs born in postwar slum conditions would add unhelpful ambiguity and is therefore to be avoided.

It’s possible that Nuttall’s office has also been beguiled by the ease with which he and his party can tell other kinds of politically expedient inventions. The right is well accustomed to being able to pass off obviously false and easily disproved stories as gospel truth. The reason why was described way back in CS Lewis’s Mere Christianity. Stories of blood-drinking Jews, dark-skinned rapists and Romanian paedophiles are readily believed because there exists a willing audience who wants them to be true for “the sheer pleasure of thinking your enemies are as bad as possible”. Ukip, as the party-political arm of the militant tabloids, knows that it needs only hint at a story about a Muslim child molester being released because of political correctness, or a nonsensical EU regulation requiring all ducks to wear safety helmets, for it to be picked up eagerly by people who gain pleasure in such tales as vindication of their belief that the world is mad and only they happy few stand as the heroic vanguard against decline.

People do not simply accept such rhetoric, but eagerly repeat and embellish it. They enable people to play-act as anti-establishment rebels, even though they are staunch imperial conservatives, and form an important backbone of justification for the sadistic cruelty of petty bigotry. They are parasitic beliefs, which lock into their hosts’ brains and trigger the pleasure response to remain in place. Upton Sinclair famously said: “It is difficult to get a man to understand something when his salary depends on him not understanding it.” It is even more difficult when the motivation is the pleasure of imaginary victimhood, without any of the downsides of genuine persecution, and the endorphin rush of “I told you so”.

It is no real surprise that those whose livelihoods depend on the telling and retelling of inflammatory mythologies should grow so blasé. If you are used to being able to just make up any old tosh and have your marks eagerly repeat it with bells on, it no doubt becomes habit forming. Is it any wonder that Nuttall’s helpers, so used to peddling bullshit about migrants and the EU, felt at ease padding his CV with exaggerated markers of authenticity?

Unfortunately, their reach could not meet their grasp. Voters in Stoke who previously said they’d vote for him are sure to be put off as Ukip is revealed as just another political party peddling in untruths.

I almost feel sorry for him. If there is one thing more pitiful than trying to be like Nigel Farage, it is failing to be like Nigel Farage, no matter how hard you try.