By Mark Davies BBC News Online staff

If anyone has any queries about the current state of Britney Spears' love life, I may be able to help.

I can also provide, if requested, a detailed rundown of Victoria Beckham's beauty regime and a whole host of backstage secrets from Pop Idol.

That's what happens when you are stranded overnight in an accident and emergency department with only an old copy of Heat magazine to kill the time.

But if my nine hours in casualty helped me brush up on the world of showbiz, it also provided an insight into the best and worst of the NHS.

I had fallen heavily on my shoulder while playing football one evening, and although I was pretty sure I hadn't broken anything, the pain was excruciating.

Hesitancy

After telephoning the NHS Direct advice line, I was told I really should go to my nearest accident and emergency department.

The treatment, when it arrived, was excellent

Sleeping on the injury, the nurse told me, could make it worse. She didn't say as much, but there was a hesitancy in her voice which suggested that she knew what I was in for.

We arrived at the casualty department in south London at around 11.30pm. More than eight hours later I was called in for treatment.

In fairness, on arrival at casualty I was seen almost immediately by a triage nurse, who rated my chances of making it through the night.

After deciding my life was probably not in danger, she sent me to wait on the plastic chairs in the grim, dirty waiting area. And what a wait.

Flurry of excitement

That was when I first flicked through that copy of Heat. A few hours later, I discarded it after reading it from cover to cover for the seventh or eighth time.

I wondered what the bloke who'd tripped me up would be doing right now. He'd be asleep, of course

The waiting room was pretty full. A television flickered away in the corner.

Perhaps once an hour there would be a flurry of excitement as a nurse arrived to call a new patient through.

Most of the time, it seemed as though we were all waiting and that no-one at all was being seen.

In fact, more serious cases were being brought by ambulance to another entrance, avoiding the ER-like drama of bleeding patients being rushed through public areas.

Only two doctors were on duty, I was told. The estimated waiting time gradually rose from three hours to six.

My wife had ducked out of the experience after about an hour. There wasn't much point in us both waiting, after all.

Sleep

So I read Heat again. Stared at the wall. Watched the television. Walked around. Changed seats. Read Heat again.

More money will surely help the NHS

I thought about clearing off. But after three hours, I would surely be called any minute.

At about 2.30am I fell asleep, my head resting on the arm of the plastic seat, and was glad to have seen off almost two hours when I woke up.

By now the waiting area was almost empty. It surely couldn't be much longer. I read Heat again.

At 5am, the receptionists said I was sixth in the list. Their good humour, patience and understanding in the face of increasingly tetchy patients were admirable.

Distant memory

I changed seats again. Got some fresh air. Tested whether the pain in my shoulder was still there. It was.

Finally, at around 8am, a nurse came to the waiting room and called my name

I was still wearing my shin pads and the rest of my football kit from the night before, which was by now a distant memory.

I wondered what the bloke who'd tripped me up would be doing right now. He'd be asleep, of course.

At 6am, I called work to say that - considering the pain and the sleep deprivation - I may not be on tip-top form that day.

Finally, at around 8am, a nurse came to the waiting room and called my name. She explained that if I wanted to see a doctor, I could, but it would mean a longer wait.

Home at last

By that time I would have taken a consultation with the security man.

The NHS is a fine service when patients actually get to see medical staff

But from that moment on, the treatment I received was excellent. The nurse was sympathetic and thorough and arranged an X-ray within 10 minutes.

The verdict? Ligament damage. She called physiotherapy and within a few more minutes, I had an appointment for the following week.

So just after 9am I walked into the morning sunlight, arm in a sling, into a taxi and home.

I've been having physiotherapy every week for the last month or so, and the pain in my shoulder has almost gone.

Fine service

I knew, of course, that long waits were possible in NHS casualty departments, but I never really imagined it could be quite as bad as it was.

My experience also backed up the anecdotal evidence that the NHS, while starved of resources, is a fine service when patients actually get to see medical staff.

And though people say throwing money at the problem may not help, it's hard to see how extra money for cleaner waiting rooms and more facilities for patients wouldn't help.

Not to mention the more fundamental need for more staff, the lack of which was the primary cause of my long wait on a busy night when dire emergencies naturally enough took priority over my dicky shoulder.

Any other lessons? Yes. If you are unlucky enough to have to go to casualty anytime soon, take a good book.