All is Rosie.....

3 am is the witching hour; when once again I find myself curled on the sofa listening to the chirrup of crickets, who seem blissfully unaware they are soon to be a dragon's breakfast.
My joints ache, and the Tamoxifen induced night sweats make me a restless bedfellow.

There is something strangely soothing about cricket song, an evocative sound that instantly transports me back to the endless summer days of childhood; when the sun always shone and we were free to roam to the forest or beach, with strict instructions to be home before tea.

 We roamed as a pack, we neighbourhood kids; safety in numbers, eldest looking out for youngest.... and sibling rivalries, for the most part, kept for home. Our days were spent cycling through winding country lanes, to picnic by cool forest streams where sticklebacks and water boatmen darted through the shallows; or to the beach to mould our bodies into the warm shingle, drowsy and hypnotised by the gentle shush of waves .

I like to think it was like this... but was it really?  We all edit our lives as if to play out on the big screen; boredom, pain and conflict removed; a past viewed through a filtered lens. We recall with fondness those uncomplicated moments when friends could be relied upon and the world was a forgiving place; choosing to omit the dark days, the dull days, the difficult times that also shaped who we are.

How will I edit my life at present? I'm not sure.... Perhaps it should stay as a first rush, the good, the bad and the ugly in brilliant high definition; and not a soft focus lens in sight.