Recently we had to send away our old and tattered driving licences for address changes requiring us to provide photographs.
Having found a photo booth, and enough change to feed it, we set about trying to work out how to get the best from this most cruel piece of modern machinery. I am not sure what it is about them but they seem to bring out panic in nearly everyone. You respond as if you are about to capture a piece of your very soul and not just a convenient picture.
Steeling ourselves we spun the seat to the required height and read the instructions. My wife had volunteered to go first and you would think that would be the end of the story. Impatient to get on with other more important things I attempted to put sterling into the slot but my wife was not ready to pose.
She took out of her bag several combing devices, a selection of make-up gunk and a small mirror. ‘I will have to look at this photo for the next few years’ she said as if offering a defence.
Having satisfied her need to prune she positioned herself and the picture was taken. Now it was my turn and I readied myself to get it over with as quick as I could. ‘Are you not going to comb your hair’ said my bride with a mixture of care and disappointment. ‘Do you think I need to’ I replied. She handed me a comb without a word as if an answer to my question was not necessary. Hair suitably rearranged I sat waiting for the flash to go off trying to neither smile not grimace; such that I ended up looking like I was slightly constipated.
We waited for our photos with a mixture of fear and fun knowing that they would look both awful to us and amusing to anyone else who viewed them.
‘I am going to get mine done again’ said my wife threatening to spend another four pound. I convinced her that there was no point in redoing the sitting as it was unlikely that anyone would see the finished result due to the fact that she never drives fast enough for the police to be interested in stopping her for a chat.
I understand her concern because I know as well as the rest of the population that the machines are designed to show every blemish and wrinkle so that no feature will escape the glare of the flash lighting.
I also think that we have been spoilt by the computer technology available to us meaning that we can touch up our snaps in a way that was once only available to top fashion photographers. I have enjoyed the fact that I can remove the odd blemish and wrinkle without resorting to plastic surgery.
I am not sure about the morality, however, of airbrushing your children’s photographs to make them look prettier. I once had a colleague who edited one such picture so that his son’s ears didn’t look to be so sticky out. I can’t imagine it would give you much confidence in later life to know that your dad thought you were so ugly that he had to resort to such measures.
Anyway no such luxuries with a photo booth so were left to make the best of a bad lot.
When we arrived home I made the comment that we could use one of the photographs to renew our passports, thereby saving money. My wife would have none of it insisting that she was unwilling to travel around the world having to show people this sub standard image.
‘I suppose it is only four pounds’ I thought as she went off to make a phone call. She returned a few moments later looking happier and declaring that it was all sorted for the passport photograph as she had booked a hair appointment for the following week and would feel more confident about the resultant picture after that.
I looked at my photograph and then looked in the mirror noticing that the half smile-half grimace facial expression was now a permanent feature.
Passport Vanity
Caravans
I am really good at parallel parking but have to admit that I am only good when I have the right conditions. Bizarrely, I can manage it really well between two narrowly positioned cars yet when I have to park next to the curb, and I have acres of room, I fail miserably. The same is true when towing a trailer; given the reference points of a narrow gate opening and I am a show off at reversing; in an empty field I am faced with too much choice and I look like a buffoon. Of course at my age I have years of experience to call on (reversing that is – not looking like a buffoon).
When our daughters were younger we were kindly given a caravan so that we could upgrade from the usual canvas holidays to ones with a few more luxuries; and when I say luxuries I mean curtains that don’t meet in the middle and lights that hint at being good enough to illuminate your world.
All packed up we set off for Cornwall with ideas of hot weather and rolling seas in our minds. My only concession to my inexperience at towing was a pledge to not go down any road unless I was sure that there was an exit at the other end. Reversing a trailer, after all, is for farmers and show offs. There seems to be a rule for family holidays that it set to try all parents; whenever you need a toilet/garage/restaurant you cannot find one.
When the noise of hungry children was at its loudest, we decided to stop at the next café for some well earned nosh. We drove for miles trying to convince the children that it wouldn’t be long before we found a food outlet.
Nearing desperation we spied signs for a country pub offering an ‘all day menu’. It looked to be a decent pub on a decent road, complete with children’s play area.
As we headed off the main road I saw two signs that made me break out in a mild panic; the first was a declaration that we were entering a dead-end. The second was a sign indicating that the road was un-adopted with the implication that it would be uneven.
By the time all of this news had sunk in it was too late to do anything about it and we could see the welcome sign in the pub window. We were all so tired and hungry that I decided to park up and worry about getting out after we had eaten.
Once all the feeding and watering had been done we returned to our vehicle and mobile home ready for the rest of our journey. I look at the car, then look at the road, then looked at my wife and kids and decided to make them feel proud of me.
It was a nightmare; not just because I couldn’t get the car and trailer to face the right way but because the beer garden was full of people watching every turn of the steering wheel. Some looked sympathetic, some where laughing and I swear I heard one or two of them clapping.
I tried for about a month (that is to say ten minutes) to make it work but I just kept ending up in more and more trouble. It looked more like I was trying to fold the car and caravan in half than turn it round.
Eventually one of the lads in the pub came over to offer some help. He explained that he was a lorry driver and that he couldn’t watch anymore as it was too painful an experience. It took him seconds, and I mean seconds. I swear that he even used just one finger on the steering wheel in an attempt at adding to how ridiculous I looked.
My daughters cheered, my wife said an embarrassed ‘thank-you’, and I went with the driver to the pub to buy him a drink. I walked back to the car feeling like a young buffoon determined to never try reversing a caravan again.
Like I said; Reversing a trailer is for farmers, show offs and smug lorry drivers
Breakfast
Much to my wife’s bemusement I have spent the best part of my life avoiding the need to eat breakfast on a regular basis. I just don’t wake up hungry. Even when the girls were young, and I had the pleasure of arranging four different bowls of cereal, I was never tempted to join them.
I suppose it is because I have certain beliefs about the first meal of the day that have been, up until now, unshakeable.
Firstly, breakfast isn’t breakfast unless it contains bacon. I once heard someone in a hotel ask for a Full English without bacon. I wanted to walk across the room and tell them that they were asking the impossible.
Secondly, I have never heard a conversation about cereal that had the word ‘tasty’ in it. My wife has tried to convince me to try muesli and other cereals but she talks about them being ‘healthy’ or ‘good for your constitution’, none of which makes me want to get involved in such morning food.
The other phrase she uses, as if it has any serious meaning, is that ‘breakfast is the most important meal of the day’ to which I reply ‘well if it is it should definitely include bacon then’.
So it is that I very rarely have breakfast; except on holiday or special occasions when I will have a proper Full English.
For years I have maintained that I have seen no detrimental effect due to missing this morning nosh session. Then one day my wife returned from a training session as part of her job as a Practice Nurse; the subject, Healthy Eating.
I always fear these occasions because she will come home with ideas that she wants to test on me. I have had blood taken, diabetes tests, my heart rate monitored, breathing capacity tests and now I was faced with a survey of my eating habits.
After she had again ‘tutted’ at my avoidance of breakfast she quizzed me about my dinner habits.
‘I eat my sandwich at 9:15am’, I said not realising the significance of my words.
‘But that almost makes it breakfast’, uttered my bride in desperation.
‘No it doesn’t because I don’t have bacon with it’, I offered with impeccable reasoning.
Things went further down hill when she asked about my fruit intake for the day. She seemed all too eager to discount banana milkshake and a chocolate orange.
Eventually convinced that change was needed I agreed to start the redevelopment my eating plan by trying a number of cereals. The type I liked the most (either chocolate covered or sugar coated) were immediately banned as if my enjoyment of food was unhealthy. The variety I didn’t like all seemed to be made of wood shavings but were apparently good for me.
I finally found one that was bearable and decided to try it every day in an attempt at keeping my wife happy and hopefully losing a few pounds. One week in and I can report that it is just so very boring and I have come to the conclusion that I need more variety in order to sustain my interest.
Daughter number two (who had spent almost a year in the States) had informed me that it was not unusual for breakfast to include sausages AND maple syrup on the same plate. Now if it had some additional bacon it might be a good alternative.
Daughter number four added that in France they tend to just have croissants and jam as a lighter alternative, but this just seems like pretending to enjoy food; surely it is just posh jam and bread.
So what am I to do; I don’t really like cereal but my wife says that I need to eat breakfast every day in order to be healthy. What about bacon in a croissants; now I like the sound of that; OK its not a Full English, more a Part English, Part French.
