Have just read a wonderful passage in Polly Coles', The Politics of Washing :
"Casualty, whether it is housed in a stupendous renaissance building in the middle of the Venetian Lagoon or in a jerry-built cottage hospital in the Midlands, is the same the world over: a place of infinite general boredom, punctuated by the odd high-octane drama, set off either by mental imbalance, pain or frustration. It is the Divine Comedy rewritten for the twenty-first century: the circles of Hell and Heaven have merged, for the most part, into a single zone: medical purgatory, with its rows of chairs and endlessly waiting people. Death and Mercy make their incursions, of course, but casualty is, at its heart, the no man's land of a world that prefers to ignore the existence of both."