MY series of unspectacular injuries has taken a turn for the even more undramatic.

Yet it’s led to me claiming a new world record. Well, perhaps a record for Huddersfield.

You may recall that I recently revealed that the onset of middle-age has transformed me into an accident-prone dad.

It’s been pathetic injury after pathetic injury – and all in the most unfortunate of domestic circumstances.

But I’ve now had the most annoying of all so far that landed me in casualty.

The tale of woe begins like all the others, simply carrying out the most domestic of chores – this time walking from the lounge into the bedroom via a tiny corridor that houses the vacuum cleaner.

The problem is the light was off and the vacuum cleaner had been left sticking out a little too far and, bang, I caught it with my little toe really hard.

Once again there was that brief moment when it doesn’t hurt but you know it’s then going to be excruciating. And it was. After all, little toes aren’t designed to take the brunt of such brute force.

It quickly swelled up and walking became tough.

Still, you’ve got to carry on, I suppose. No use moaning, No-one’s going to listen.

So I carried on for 24 hours but it became more and more swollen and then the bruise starting spreading across my foot.

I began to wonder if I’d broken it and, if so, would walking about on it only make matters worse and possibly damage it further, leaving it with long-term problems.

To casualty or not to casualty. That was the question.

After much umming and aahing I popped down at 11pm on a Wednesday night, prepared for a long wait.

Kindle in hand I arrived at Huddersfield Royal Infirmary, gave my details and was asked to take a seat with the promising words “they’ll call you soon.”

There was around 20 people in there watching my painful process to a seat in the farthest corner.

I opened the Kindle, selected the book and was about to read when the tannoy said: “Andrew Hirst please.”

What? I'd only just sat down. This isn’t casualty as it’s supposed to be. What about the long wait?

So I stood up and hobbled to the triage room watched with envious eyes by those wondering if I was getting some kind of preferential treatment.

The nurse checked the foot, prodded here, prodded there, prodded everywhere and said they don’t usually X-ray little toes.

But she did accept it had taken a hell of a beating from the vac so a doctor would check it out.

“Wait round the corner,” she said. So I limped round there to join a bloke laid out asleep on the seats near the treatment cubicles.

Out came the Kindle, I switched it on and then a nurse appeared – not unlike Mr Benn in his magical shop – and led me into a cubicle. She had a quick look at the afflicted appendage and then went out to get a doctor.

Almost as soon as the curtain closed behind her it opened again as the young bearded doctor appeared.

“That was quick,” I said. “Oh, I’m only doing minors and it’s quiet,” he replied.

Minors? Surely I don’t look that young. Then it dawned. Minor injuries.

He said they wouldn’t X-ray as there’s little they could do with broken little toes and said it was a 50/50 chance it was broken.

“If it’s not broken it’ll be painful for two weeks,” he said. So that was the good news.

“If it is broken it’ll be painful for a month.” That was the bad news. Being naturally unlucky I knew which scenario would be mine.

And so I was free to go. I’d arrived at 11.20pm and was back in the car for 11.40pm. Now that must be a casualty record after being seen by three people.

So well done to the NHS.

But there again should I be telling you all this. What about patient confidentiality?