People often put too much information about themselves online. I don’t see the problem, as long as the statute of limitations has passed.
Some years ago our insurance company suddenly realised we had an imported car and dropped us, the presumed risk of driving what my mechanic called a left-hooker not negated by a spotless record. Getting a policy from another company was complicated by the fact that I didn’t have a British licence; indeed, had been using my Ohio license on British roads for a decade. (Oops.)
The usual thing to do would be to suck it up and go through the painful process of obtaining the correct laminated rectangle for the country you’re actually living in, but having failed the practical test, I wasn’t in the mood to retake it; nor did my wife care to jump through the necessary hoops. And so we became a carless household — a rare thing in rural England. It’s just us and the kids and the old folks in the nursing home.
The train station is two miles down the road, an easy if occasionally hair-raising bike ride given the lamentable state of driver education. As yet another motorist speeds by with a grudging nudge of the steering wheel to barely avoid decorating his bonnet with an expatriate, I have to keep reminding myself that (most of!) these people actually passed the test.
Anyway. Yesterday we adopted some plants from Homebase.