It's April 1951 and I am being cuddled protectively by my brother John, while our brother Barrie concentrates on the lens of our mother's box Brownie.
Does the fact that my right arms is flailing somewhat indicate my feeling that this tender embrace (around my neck) has gone on long enough, thank you very much?
The picture below was snapped exactly twelve months later.
Three boys, three tricycles. Hurrah!
What has happened to the tricycle? Way back then, they were standard issue for small children.
We had endless fun on ours, in the narrow, paved garden of our house on Sidmouth's sea wall, and farther afield in the Byes, the park beside the River Sid.
My brothers, I'm told, were tiny trike terorists, careering down slopes, six wheels mashing anything unfortunate enough to be caught in their path.