It's the thirtieth anniversary of an event which occurred during my teens today.
It involved being unable to go on holiday because - when we arrived at the airport - we were told I had to have my own passport rather than be a 'child' on my parents' passports.
British Customs contacted Tenerife to ask for allowance. They refused. Plan A was for one of my parents and my sister to fly on while my other parent and I stayed back to get a temporary passport.
I didn't really care for Plan A. I had images of being sent home alone for a fortnight running through my head.
We eventually found our way to Plan B. Reluctantly on my parents' part, I should add. I would be picked up by a family friend and then - the following morning - I would have to find my way to Shropshire to spend time with my aunt and uncle.
My dad's friends ended up driving me there the following day. They were off on a holiday of their own and my aunt and uncle's home happened to be on the way.
To cut a long story short, I ended up staying in Shropshire for a week then spent the second part of the holiday in west Wales.
It was a fun fortnight. One I've often recalled many times over the years.
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