A few years ago, I got into a lift with a former colleague I knew a little but wouldn’t exactly describe as a close friend. In the way that we all have done hundreds of times, I asked how he was, expecting a variant of the standard response: “Yeah, not bad thanks, mate. How are you?”
Instead, this colleague said flatly: “My wife wants a divorce.”
I can’t really remember how the rest of the conversation went in the short but excruciating journey to our floor, so paralysed by awkwardness was I. Did I offer sympathy, constructive advice, compassion? I hope so, but I can’t guarantee it. My colleague was merely saying what was on his mind, speaking his truth, but the lack of social filter, the brutal honesty of the interaction was too much and threw me entirely off-kilter.
Honesty is good. You shouldn’t lie. In most circumstances, it would be better if we all told the truth. In most circumstances. Not always.
There’s a lot to be said for the harmless lie, the artfully concealed truth, the slight diversion from your true feelings when it would be much better for all concerned just to hold back a little bit. Which brings us to Ruben Amorim.
The Manchester United head coach is a very honest man. Incredibly honest. In fact, he’s far too honest, seemingly a man incapable…
