My right leg? Donated by a motorcycle crash victim, 24-years-of-age.
My left arm? Came from a Jamaican guy, crushed by a skip in an industrial accident. It was the only part of him worth saving, to be honest.
I’ve been given the spine of a former pole-vaulter and a facial skin graft from a Romany gypsy – he didn’t need skin where he was going.
Medical progress, they say, is a wonderful thing. And indeed it is; I am a freak.
Next week an entrance turnstile is getting installed in my lounge, and I can’t wait.