Nope I’m not really Flavia Cacace, I haven’t been concealing my identity for the last 3 years, and I don’t have a Rear of the Year award stashed at the back of my wardrobe… Sadly. But it is true that my generously round (and increasingly dimply) bum did win us a new family car three years ago.

You see, one of my first ever dates with my Craig was drinks in our town centre. It really should go down in history as one of the worst first dates in history. Before we’d even spent our first night together, before I’d even met his parents, before I’d even found out where he lived, my Craig had seen my naked bum.

It happened as a result of an accident in a bar. I’d had my first glass of wine to iron out the nerves and the conversation was flowing well. Excusing myself from the table I popped outside into the makeshift beer garden for a cigarette. It was a busy Saturday night and the ‘garden’ (if you can call it that!) was teeming with twenty-somethings in various states of inebriation. As I was dressed to impress and wearing a painfully short white dress, I moved to the far end of the paved area in an attempt to avoid flailing wine glasses and the like. Smart move you might say?

Well apparently not.

Two seconds later I found myself on my bum on the floor. I’d chosen a pretty precarious place to stand, my heel had found its way into a large crack in the paving, and I’d landed on yet another deep crack that was full of rainwater, cigarette butts, and other nasties I won’t think too deeply about. Far from being sympathetic, a doormen hauled me up off the floor and started to bundle me out the door mistaking me for a drunk.

Craig caught sight of what was happening and rushed over to help me. It didn’t take long for us to notice I’d cut myself quite badly and the blood was seeping through my dress. It was at that point I realised I had no choice but to ease aside my Bridget Jones knickers and show him my bare bum so he could assess how deep the injury was. Turns out it was deep enough to warrant a trip to hospital. Oh joy.

So we weren’t talking a quick flash here. Craig called an ambulance and within no time at all I was laid on my tummy on a hospital gurney with my blood soaked and dirt covered bum in the air. All dignity lost, Craig stayed with me as a rather bemused nurse gave me 8 stitches and sent me home with an embarrassingly large gauze on my bum. Quite why or how Craig managed to overlook that night is beyond me.

A few days later, when I’d finally learnt how to ease myself onto the sofa in a sitting position, I did something I’ve never done before. I phoned a lawyer. Craig had cleverly taken some pictures of the hole I had fallen down and a few of my injury - I must have been in shock as I doubt I’ve have readily consented to a shot of my bum. My case was taken on by a lawyer, a few emails were exchanged, and I quickly forgot all about it.

6 months later I received a phone call to see I’d been awarded £8000 in damages. To say I was stunned was an understatement. Yes it had hurt like mad, resulted in time off work, and has left a scar resembling a tick on my bum, but I’d survived and was now pregnant with Craig’s baby. That night was partly responsible for bringing us together as a couple so I wasn’t traumatiscised by it. Still, I wasn’t going to turn the offer down - £8000 could get us everything we needed for the new arrival.

A week later I received a very frantic and apologetic call from my lawyer to say he’d misinterpreted the settlement and the figure he’d quoted wasn’t all mine. That figure was to include his own fees and I would actually only receive £5000. I was to disregard any paperwork with the original figure on and he’d send me the adjusted sum. Although £5000 was still a hefty bonus, I wasn’t satisfied I’d been represented well and had my case transferred to another lawyer who successfully argued Solicitor Negligence on my behalf. Just a month later a cheque came through the post for the full original amount and the rest is history.

Lessons learnt? Camera phones are invaluable if you have an accident, it’s probably best to avoid white chiffon if you’re out on the town… and Bridget Jones knickers are never a good idea.

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