IN this green and pleasant land in which I am privileged to reside, there are few institutions that are more vilified than the NHS in general and A and E in particular.

Horror stories abound and, sadly, over time become definitions of the norm. But I must speak as I find and declare my undying admiration for the Dilke Memorial and Gloucester Royal hospitals.

On April 28 at 10am I had a very "senior moment". Misjudging the last step of an internal flight of stairs I found myself sprawled on the floor with my left leg curled at a somewhat strange angle.

Ten minutes of relatively painful and careful manoeuvrings, interspersed with mutterings of "dear, oh dear" and "botheration", resulted in me being upright and bearing weight on my left foot, a couple of tentative steps later and I was horizontal once more. I was now convinced that something was not quite right, and made arrangements to be taken to the Dilke.

Within 15 minutes of my arrival at the Dilke I was seen by a lady who, as it turned out was spot on, diagnosed my problem as being one of a torn Quad muscle and/or tendon. Next on the list was a precautionary X-ray of the knee to eliminate any possibility of broken bones that might cause complications.

During this procedure the lady was in consultation with the orthopaedic department at Gloucester Royal.

At 2pm the general consensus of opinion was that I should report to Gloucester Royal A and E department and I was packed off with a pair of crutches.

I went home to have a bite to eat and, after checking online the status of Gloucester Royal A and E waiting times, grabbing a copy of War and Peace and a sleeping bag, arrived at A and E at 4.15pm.

I informed the receptionist that I had been referred by the Dilke, a couple of mouse-clicks later I heard the words: "Thank you Mr Marshall, you're next for triage."

I was thrown into immediate confusion, I was prepared for the long-haul but it was not to be, in fact I barely had time to hobble to a chair when a nurse tapped me on the shoulder saying: "Follow me please."

To cut a long story short, at around 18:30 I had been Triaged, ECGd, chest X-rayed, tested for MRSA, had all vital signs recorded (happily nothing involving proctology) and repeated my date of birth no fewer than 11 times.

I was now being examined by an orthopaedic consultant together with a fair-sized retinue of trainees.

After having secured my agreement to "letting this mob have a bit of a furtle," five minutes later the unanimous verdict was 'as near complete rupture of the quad muscle and/or tendon as makes no difference.'

Looking at his watch the main man said "no guarantee, but given a fair wind you should be in theatre at around 8pm this evening".

Once again I was more than pleasantly surprised.

As it turned out I did not go to theatre until 9:45 the next morning, however just after administering the general anaesthetic, and before drifting off I heard the anaesthetist ask for confirmation of the time, "10 o'clock" came the reply. Exactly 24 hours from fail to fix.

Long live the NHS.

– Adrian Marshall, Coalway.