IT was a look that even Lady Gaga would have deemed too much. A backless surgical gown, another one worn over it back to front to cover my modesty, a black coat, a welly on one foot and a coloured sock on the other, a mascara-smeared face - and a pair of crutches.
As I inched and winced my way along the BRI corridor, everyone I hobbled past made that "Ahh, poor you" face complete with head- tilt. Or perhaps their sympathy was aimed at my boyfriend, who was walking beside me carrying my handbag in the most manly way he could muster.
All morning I'd Stainless Steel Earrings internally tutted at women tottering around frozen Bristol in high heels. I was certain their footwear choice had booked them a trip to A&E. Little did I know that a few hours later I'd be on my way there myself.
Wellies on, I was walking slowly and carefully along an icy Clifton pavement when I slipped. My left leg twisted, I heard a crack and I hit the icy floor awkwardly and heavily. Pain surged through me so forcefully I thought I was going to pass out.
I screamed. A woman at a bus stop raced over, ashen-faced. A car screeched to a halt and two people dashed out. "I'm a doctor," said one. The other dialled 999.
I went into Silver Cufflinks shock - panicking, crying, shaking, hyperventilating. They comforted me and breathed with me until the ambulance arrived, swaddling me in coats and scarves.
The paramedics gave me gas and air. It didn't take the pain away, it just made my vision go crinkly and my head buzz. But their jokey banter and warmth took the edge off.
The BRI's A&E department was rammed - the world and his wife had slipped on the ice. After heaving me onto a bed, I was left alone for what felt like ages, sobbing and shaking.
A lady appeared at my side. She'd come in with her seriously ill father but could see I was distressed and alone, so she chatted to me kindly until my nurse arrived. Her mum came over, too, and I was moved that amid their own distress they'd comforted a stranger.
My nurse greeted me like an old friend and distracted me from the pain with humour. X-rays confirmed I'd fractured my kneecap. I was put in a leg brace, given some crutches and told I could go home. A man asked if I'd like a cup of tea. I hadn't eaten or drunk anything for 12 hours. I could have kissed him.
After four hours in A&E, a taxi ride, a scary hop across the ice and scaling four flights of stairs, I was home. And then my ear started to itch. Then my other ear. Then my
embroidered patches nose, neck, arm... I'd erupted in huge itchy spots all over, maybe an allergic reaction to the detergent used for washing the hospital gowns I was wearing. It was a final twist of the knife, yet a fitting ending.
Deep, sincere thanks to all who were kind to me that day.
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