I've had it from on high...

well it would be, being I live

in the highest village in Kent.

'Don't have any tattoos or body piercings!'

The doctor said as I swept out of her surgery.

Well, I ask you?

Would you even consider it, with wrinkles enough to make a winkle weep?

Four months ago I had a mole removed,

nothing nasty thankfully.
The scar became itchy and red, even after the liberal applications 
of lotions, portions and spells, it still sat with attitude on my chest. 

'You'd better go Lin, it can't be right after all this time!'

Biddable as I always am, I did as I was told.

Plus with snow thick on the ground, I didn't have better fish to fry.

Slipping and sliding, clad in biker boots and crampons, up the hill I went;

thinking if I fall over and break my neck at least I'm heading to a safe haven.

One look at my once majestic (not anymore due to slippage) decolletage

she said just one word...

'Keloid!'

I visibly brightened, pleased at having something that sounded

a bit different... 

My parting shot...
'A face lift's obviously out of the question?'
'Look Linda, for as long as I've known you, you still look as young as you did then!'
Needless to say I floated down the hill on a cloud of 'wind pain' smiles... 
smug vanity some might opinion...
They'd be right.

This reminds me of the night spent lost on the 
Black Cuillin in Skye...

Uuuuh?
Keep up!

It's because once again, my chest features large in the story.
Back in the day, when I was fit, there was nothing I liked better than hill-walking.
On a holiday to Skye, my then husband and I decided to see
Loch Caruisk, deep in the Cuillin mountains.

We set off, well prepared, or so we thought...
food, torches, emergency blankets etc.
It was October, the days were shortening, our confidence was lengthening:
we are invincible...
on we went without fear.
The light ever-so slowly started to fade.
'It's alright we've got our torches, we can follow the cairns to find our way down!'
Torch batteries in pre LED days didn't last long.
We stumbled about in the dark, not knowing where we were going.
Hearing the sea crashing below decided us, that the best course
of action was to pull back from the sound of the sea and hunker down.
Huddled together under our tin foil blanket...
looking for all the world like turkeys ready for the off:
 the sound of rutting deer punctuated our night.
Frigging cold it was too. 
Richter scale shivering was the order of the long, freezing night.

As dawn broke, cold, weary and our bodies covered with ticks, we
thankfully stumbled off the hill.

We'd survived!

Driving through Edinburgh home, we stopped at traffic lights. 
Navigator with nothing better to do,
I peered at the healing bites on my chest...
only to spy one solitarty tick, happily sat
filling his boots at 'Bosom Blood Brasserie'.
 Feeling eyes boring into me...
'What is she doing?' they seem to say?

Winding the window down I said...
'Look mate, its okay, I'm only looking at me tick!'
The lights changed and we roared off.
We left him, searching for his gear stick,
wonder in his eyes...
'Did she really say tit?'