Other Random Ramblings

It’s Only Bolognaise…..

It’s been two something a.m. ,and three something a.m., and now its four something. I’m pacing. Ordinarily in these restless situations I’d run myself a deep bath, take a glass of milk with me and babble at you from my bathtub.

At the moment though a long soak is not allowed. I’m on shallow dips and wet wipes washing only.

All because of a momentary lapse of concentration and a falling out with a large container full of bolognaise.

If you are squeamish do not read on. This post contains graphic images.

It’s Saturday and my house is buzzing with friends from afar here to party with me for my fiftieth birthday. If you read my blogs you will know that it’s been long in the planning and I’m pretty much excited to the point of bursting.  I will wax lyrical the excellence of the evening despite this ‘hiccup’ in a separate story… This tale shall be referred to in homage to the hilarious Simon Peggy movie, Hot Fuzz, as ‘It’s Only Bolognaise’….

Six p.m..ish and I’m flitting between shower, kitchen, makeup, kitchen getting myself ready and a hot buffet heated for anywhere between 30-70 people… I have no idea how many will arrive here for pre-party cocktails and some beer soaking Bolognaise’…. I have a house already buzzing with friends and family who have been arriving since Friday morning. We had a pre party party on Friday night and have spent Saturday chilling chatting and prepping for this evening. There’s a distinct buzz in the air and the mood is good. ….

…and then there’s an almighty scream from the kitchen as I remove a large tub of bolognaise sauce from the microwave. Having saved time and washing up by reheating it in the tub I froze it in, the said tub not being microwave proof has lost its rigidity in the heating process. As I lift it from the microwave the sides fold in on themselves and the boiling Bolognaise’ volcanoes out of the tub and over my chest into my cleavage  and bra.

Things happen in a blur from here. I’m ripping off my clothes running up the stairs and diving into the shower. Female family members are dashing in and out , taking control, trying not to look concerned urging me to stay under the icy flow. Twenty minutes I’m there. People come and go. Hubby arrives back from prepping the party venue to find the house in crisis.

I’m in the shower, chest red raw from being scalded. Worrying only about missing or spoiling the party. I’m calm as you like. But every time I step out of the icy flow of water the burning pain in my chest rises. All I can think about is whether the food will be ready for my guests and not wanting any downers on the evening…  I’m worrying that I’ve thrown the timing out for the evening plans!!!

Everyone else is worrying about me.

Out of the shower and it’s ice packs for the next hour. People are coming and going. Aloe vera appears. Several people suggest a visit to MIU (minor injuries unit).

Various people wander in to assess my chest……..

Meanwhile I’m holding tea-towels full of ice on my tits whilst trying to apply makeup to my face and do my hair.

I refuse MIU. Various people have checked NHS direct and various other sites. A friend / first aider arrives.

I am not going to MIU! I refuse to miss my party.

The heat has dissipated. I have a high-necked party dress, aloe vera and paracetamol and I intend to PARTY…..

… Party was amazeballs magnificent (see next blog).

….I’m blistering and the skin is blacking. I still have a zillion people here….. I slavver on the aloe vera . I’m not in any pain but my chest is definitely not looking pretty.

By the evening there’s flaking and blistering but also the skin is tightening and pulling. I’m having to sleep tonight sitting up and as such am not sleeping. ..

I go to MIU

Apparently I did most things right …except of course going to MIU  straight away …

…and wrapping myself in clingfilm…

I return like this … Eight layers of gel dressing topped with padded wound dressings, all being held in place by a tube bandage boob tube. …

I think we can all agree that it’s somewhat optimistic to stick a 50-year-old F-cup chest in a boob tube…. I feel I need to hold it in place or lay down to prevent gravity doing its worse…


The next day I return for the lovely nurse at MIU, Jo, to redress the wounds. Apparently, according to her and Hubby they are looking much better. Who knew Jo had hidden talents in dress making. Today the tube bandage is a vest top. My chest no longer has to defy gravity alone!

Today my fashionista nurse, decided we could replace the bulky gel dressing with something lighter weight.


The lovely nurse, Jo Wolfenden, creating a new designer one-off just for me

…. note the fetching collar detail and central stitching…

It looks like i’ll be back and forth to Llandrindod Wells Memorial Hospital for a few days. Thank goodness for local community hospitals and their fantastic staff. Hopefully I’ll be out of bandages soon





Brilliant blog posts on HonestMum.com

(4) Comments

  1. Oh my goodness! Now that’s dedication! I love how you were still worried about the food while everyone else is worried about you, that would totally be me. Glad it’s healing and the boob tube situ got sorted! #BlogCrush

  2. RaisieBay says:

    What a way to celebrate your 50th! That looks incredibly painful, I have no idea how you managed to carry on for so long. I hope you heal soon x #blogcrush

  3. Ouch!!! Holy cow i cant imagine how sore that would have been – kudos for carrying in regardless #blogcrush

  4. Your tale of burning gravy/sauce reminds of why “It’s so much easier being a guy” is one of my favorite sayings. Good luck healing.

Feel free to comment