Liars' League

Next event: RISE & FALL on Tuesday 12th June

On Tuesday June 12th Liars' League celebrates soaring summer temperatures (hopefully) and plummeting bar prices (2 for 1 burgers) at our RISE & FALL event - and you're invited!

Join a curate fallen from grace, a Titan of tiddlywinks, a neurotic adverb, a plummeting playwright and Prince Harry himself on a rocket-powered rollercoaster ride through triumph and failure. (You can also learn some Irish Gaelic from the world's most terrifying teacher ...) We've got five new authors PLUS our infamous book quiz PLUS free sweets and it's still just a FIVER a ticket. 

WINNING STORIES for RISE & FALL

A Beer in the Interval by Frances Salter NEW AUTHOR - read by Louisa Gummer
A Rearguard Action by Colin Adams NEW AUTHOR - read by Peter Doolan
Schmiedeleut's Play by Han Stickings Smith NEW AUTHOR - read by Tony Bell
The Greatest Tiddlywink Player in the Galaxy by Adam Lewis Smith NEW AUTHOR - read by Gloria Sanders
Literally Having an Existential Crisis by Rushiv Nayee NEW AUTHOR - read by Nick Delvalle
Prince Harry's Last Hurrah by Quintin Forrest - read by Alex Woodhall

Doors open at 7pm for a 7.30 start and tickets are £5 on the door (cash only sorry, but there is a cashpoint across the street). Drinks and food will be available at the bar, and the infamous interval quiz features fabulous free books to be won! There's no pre-booking, but tables for four or more can be reserved by calling 07808 939535.

The venue is the downstairs bar at:

The Phoenix Pub
37 Cavendish Square 
London 
W1G 0PP

Accessibility note: Access to the basement is via stairs: there is no lift, sadly. 

The Phoenix is 5 minutes' walk from Oxford Circus tube station, which is on the Victoria, Bakerloo and Central lines. Map here)

BUT WHAT ABOUT OUR NEXT WRITING DEADLINE? Why, it's Women & Girls on July 1st. Click here to find out more: 

Wine Frame of Mind by Joseph Francis

Click for podcast (fourth story)

Read by James Price

"Right this way sir," says the impeccably dressed French sommelier leading Eric Benson, thirty-three, six months single and rapidly greying, down a dim corridor. They swiftly pass a series of red-curtained rooms that hide the inhabitants, but not their conversations.

“You c*nt.”

“I would die for you!”

“You’re a liar.”

“I adore you ...”

Decluttering by Susan Smith

Click for podcast (eighth story)

Read by Claire Lacey

CDs and DVDs go into the pink charity sack along with a single Blu-ray disc. Where Eagles Dare. Never watched it. Never plan to. The bag is put on the front doorstep and I slam the door.

I donate Terry’s clothes to PDSA and smile sweetly at the woman in the shop as I dump the bulging bin liners on the counter. It feels like the right thing to do. He hated animals.

I take all the plates from the kitchen dresser and place them with great care in a box. Authentic bone china. A gift from Terry’s dear old Auntie Mabel when he moved her into that care home near King’s Lynn. God rest her soul, she didn’t last long after that.

They’d belonged to her mother before her. Family heirlooms, you could say. Precious.

Action by Will Conway

Click for podcast (fifth story)

Read by Rich Keeble

His training had prepared him for this. Every muscle in his body was tensed as he crouched - except his legs - because of the crouch. He performed a quick weapon check. One, two guns … plus the Bowie knife strapped to his back. A blade between his shoulder blades. So, three blades. On top of that, his nerves were so sharp he wasn't sure if he should declare them as dangerous weapons too. But he didn't have time to start counting his nerves; there were probably bloody hundreds of them. No time to talk to himself either. Radio silence. Just like in Beirut. He knew he was in for a long wait. But he could wait. He was patient.

Six long minutes later he heard the guard's replacement arrive. He understood the short conversation about the previous guard's wife and her stew because he was fluent in Russian. Cooper enjoyed flexing the muscles in his mind as well as his body.

Lighter than Air by Anton Rose

Click for podcast (third story)

Read by Miranda Harrison

I meet him down by the river like I said he would. He’s watching a mallard go by on the water, three ducklings following in its wake. At first I think he’s waving, his hand held awkwardly in the air like a flag at half-mast. But he isn’t waving. His arm is held aloft by a small balloon, its ribbon attached to his wrist.

"What's that?" I say, startling him.

He looks confused for a moment, and then he sees what I'm referring to. "It's nothing," he says, pulling his arm down against his side. He leans forward and kisses me. "Thanks for coming."

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes, of course." He smiles, but it looks forced. "Everything's fine."

Chiaroscuro by Richard Shury

Click for podcast (seventh story)

Read by Rich Keeble

I want the job of naming paint colours. That’ll pass the time. How do you even apply for that? On my CV it says: "I’ve named a few goldfish in my time (MacGyver and Robin Hood). Will that do?" Perhaps I should give examples of the names I’ve come up with for colours:

• Badger cull – a kind of dark red
• Unwashed bedsheet – a blotchy off-white
• Summer’s sigh – deep yellow
• Expectation – blank page white
• Hope – blank page white
• Pressure – blank page white
• Promise – blank page white

Mugged by Stephen Baily

Click for podcast (first story)

Read by Miranda Harrison

—You’ve left your shoes in the car.

His surprise at the sight of her bare feet amused her.

—Surely you weren’t expecting me to walk in the woods in heels?

—But you could step on something—broken glass or God knows what.

She laughed at his absurd mistrust of the outdoors and slipped away onto the trail. In his three-piece suit and clumsy oxfords, he plodded along after her, on the watch for half-concealed roots that might send him sprawling.

Twenty-Four Tiny Tales by Andreas Paraskevaides

Click for podcast (last story but one)

Read by Claire Lacey & Will Goodhand

Before you next let road rage take over, consider: objects in the rear-view mirror may have more teeth than they seem.

She held on to the fragment of glass as he lay beside her, wordlessly willing him to keep from stirring this time.

The source of the nursing home's troubles had less to do with faulty wiring and more to do with mandibles.

Time to enlist the pelican king's help in recalibrating the colour of sadness.

Follow the sole surviving yellow flamingo as it’s ruthlessly pursued by mechanical assassins hell-bent on exploiting the fearsome magnificence of its beautiful beak.

Animated monuments drag a coastal city to the depths.

The Last Real Thing by MFC Feeley

Click for podcast (second story)

Read by James Price

The Last Real Thing or Why My Family Left for America

Aedan and Bartley ate their fill; I’d been shorted for laziness. As further punishment, Mother sent me to gather peat alone.

There I spied the soldiers. Preferring dreams to drudgery, I decided to join them.

I’d be a cook’s apprentice with the job of tasting and eating. They’d raise me to fight. I’d come back a leader. I’d conquer Ireland, but once my mother recognized me and apologized for withholding the fish, I’d have my army free everyone. Then we would conquer England!

In dreaming this, I’d come near their camp and, as the speech you’ve practiced flees once you catch the pretty girl’s eye, I lost my resolve. I couldn’t address the soldiers; I didn’t even know their language.

Losers by Nicolas Ridley

Click for podcast (last story)

Read by Will Goodhand

I open my eyes. Spears of afternoon sunlight stream through the window. Crumpled sheets. Puckered pillows. Yes, I think. I remember where I am.

—Seven letters, says Arianna. First letter ‘c’. Third letter ‘c’. Fourth letter ‘k’.

I prop myself up on one elbow. —‘Cock’ something, I say. ‘Cockeye’? ‘Cockpit’?

She shakes her head.

—‘Cocksure’?

—Seven letters.

—Oh, yes.

—Seventh letter ‘d’.

She’s sitting at her dressing-table, wrapped in a cream bath towel, the newspaper folded on her knee, chewing her pencil. This is Arianna. She is not a cosy lover. She has no patience with post-coital clinging.

Mandatory Meeting for Museum Guards ... by Rachel Karyo

Click for podcast (6th story)

Read by Keleigh Wolf

Mandatory Meeting for Museum Guards Before The VIP & Members' Exhibition Opening Reception

The gallery will be dark, and it may be difficult to see. It is imperative that you keep the floor dry. A few visitors will ask about these paintings hanging on the walls. Beautiful, aren’t they? Both visually and thematically complex. Gaze at them too long, you’ll lose your mind. For your own safety, don’t stare at the artworks, but let the visitors look wherever they please. We’re guards, not Surgeons General, and the last thing this institution needs is additional litigation.

Blowtorch, eyes on me.

Any questions?