It was PT Barnum who allegedly remarked that there was a sucker born every minute. And the old showman pulled enough scams in his colourful lifetime to know, writes karate black belt GEORGE FREW (fooled you!) American playwright Edward Albee - whose work was associated with the Theatre of the Absurd - was fond of offering the following advice: "Never give a sucker an even break."

Suckers. Mug punters. Dupes. Some Mothers Do 'Ave 'Em. They're the predatory food and drink of conmen, hustlers, swindlers, crooks and hoaxers.

And for the most part, people believe what they want to believe - which makes even the most innocent hoaxer or joker's task considerably easier.

No need for the hard sell, you see. The customer is already satisfied, because really, they want the pitch to be true, however improbable it might sound - or they are too greedy to consider the more likely alternative, that they're being sold a pig in a poke. Thus are the hoax victims hoaxed, the sheep fleeced, the lambs led to the slaughter: deep down, they want to be. On the other hand, they might just be stupid. Or have led very sheltered lives.

Of course, people don't always see the funny side of less gentle hoaxes or deceptions.

Back in 1938, actor and director Orson Welles caused mass panic in America with his War of the Worlds radio drama, convincing scores of listeners that Martians really were invading New Jersey.

Just yesterday, Channel 4 was forced to cancel a documentary about father and daughter relationships when it emerged that one of the couples featured were actually lovers. The boyfriend had agreed to step in and play pa when the real dad got cold feet.

Given that the boyfriend concerned was, at 29, only 10 years older than the girl, it does seem that the documentary-makers couldn't have been paying very close attention.

Either that or they must have finished filming and gone home in the evenings muttering, "Doesn't he look young for his age?" to one another. And take the recent case of the upmarket B&B guide, whose publisher decided, just for a giggle, to include some spoof entries.

"We decided to put the spoofs in beside the real entries to give readers a chuckle," said publisher Alastair Sawday.

But there's one born every minute, as was evident by the inquiry Alastair received for his jokey Oxfordshire holiday residence, on offer from Rear Admiral and Mrs SOdden, of The Sunken House, River Bottom, Snoring-on-Thames.

"Feather-footed through the splashy fen you come," the advert began. "Low-level view of the river from all rooms from this unusually sited houseboat. A perfect riverside frontage; where else can you get so close to the flow? Complete privacy here - nobody else, for some reason, comes. One room flows mellifluously into another and the sploshing of the water is a constant backdrop sound. You may feed the swans and ducks from your bed (frog-print patterned pillowcases). Aquatic bliss with a touch of adventure thrown in. Bring your welly boots just in case." There then followed a description of the premises.

"Rooms: one waterbed with en suite shower. Price: rock bottom. Breakfast: catch your own. Meals: fresh fish a speciality. Closed: Christmas and high tide."

Now you'd think, would you not, that anyone with even the most modest mental acuity might work out that this was all a gag?

Nope. Someone actually tried to book the place.

Not that journalists are necessarily any better than the average punter. Despite being trained to be professionally sceptical, hacks are often prone to falling for the most ludicrous claims. One radio reporter refused to believe that another spoof entry in the B&B guide was anything other than real, and kept demanding the phone number of Mr and Mrs SCOrched of The Semi-Thatched Cottage, Burnham Scapa, Burnt Norton, Cornwall, who were offering an en suite room with matching ash furniture, a breakfast of burnt sausages and jacket potatoes and advice to bring your own barbecue for dinner. But perhaps the most remarkable of all the B&B jests was the entry which purported to come from Taurus and Buttercup De Bovine, of The New Barn, Lower Bales, Ayrshire (a farming county, incidentally, in case you hadn't guessed). Taurus and Buttercup were offering guests the chance to stay with them at their "attractive, stone-built rural hideaway where nobody will think of looking for you. For those who want to escape to the countryside, there are doors on all sides.

"Your contact with local fauna is likely to be direct, soft and odorous. Indeed, the place is almost Wordsworthian in its closeness to nature.

"The house oozes history and other sorts of authenticity. Beds and partitions are soft and fully organic." A helpful description completed the entry: "Rooms: three. Price: unknown. Breakfast: moosly (sic) and ultra-fresh milk included. Meals: purely organic. Closed: never, but guests generally share with owner/occupiers."

Said Mr Sawday: "Some people were quite disappointed when I explained the entries were jokes." To some, winding people up is a way of life and if their victims are the Press, so much the better - because there's always a good chance of the hoaxer getting his or her hands on some nice hard cash.

And if the story sounds too good to be true, there's a good chance that some newspaper somewhere will print it and pay up.

Thus we've had, over the years, the Hitler Diaries, the British Leyland Slush Fund and the "Nazi Martin Boorman is alive and well" tales.

All bunk, but bunk that made it into print and made its publishers look very foolish indeed.

Even the cleverest can be conned and the brainiest bamboozled. You don't have to be a halfwit to be hoodwinked. Remember the case of Oxford's dodgy don? Richard Ray was the bogus professor who managed to con the dons of Worcester College into believing that:

(a) he was one of them; and

(b) he deserved accommodation within their ancient walls.

During his three-month scam, Ray swanned around using the Bodleian Library and setting up computer web sites in Trinity College. He even had the audacity to say grace in Latin in Worcester's venerable dining hall.

And even after Oxford magistrates had given him a conditional discharge in March, the unrepentant hoaxer was planning his next move: "Next stop, Cambridge."

PT Barnum was obviously spot-on in his famous assessment.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm on a hot story. I've just been told that there is some Lord or other waiting to see me in reception. Lucan, I think they said.

Ever been had?

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