I found evidence which suggests I was a nose picker as a child. Yep, that’s me with my finger firmly wedged up my nose, oblivious to the fact the photo will live on way after my death for the whole world to see.
That’s my dad, with my brother precariously balanced on his hand. My brother and I were blessed with perfect balancing skills as I remember frequently standing on his shoulders, hands, bottom of his feet while he was lying down – I”m sure we’re related to a famous circus family, but my dad’s always denied this. We could have started our own circus troupe.
I digress. This was taken on one of my family’s yearly vacation jaunts to somewhere in Southern England, where we usually stayed in a caravan (trailer to you from the USA). I enjoyed our family hols, although the long car ride to get there usually ended with my parents arguing since my dad always took a wrong turn and we ended up going miles out of our way.
It was an unwritten rule, my dad drove, my mom navigated and hence always got blamed when we went awry. We’d drive for miles with my mom saying every 2 minutes “I’m sure we took a wrong turn back there”, “I think we should pull over and ask someone”, “Dave we’re going the wrong way”, “Dave, you should have taken the 3 turning off the roundabout, not the 2nd”, etc etc etc. Not until we were somewhere in the boondocks, and us kids were whining in the back did he eventually pull over to consult the map.
I don’t remember ever arriving at our destination on time, and I never quite understood the point of leaving early to beat the traffic, when every other family in the UK had the same idea. Consequently, we all met up at the same time on the M1.