The body in question

WOULD you let someone cut off one of your fingers for (pounds) 600? Apparently there are medical students in Scotland who will pay just that amount to anyone willing to let them amputate a pinkie and then sew it back on again.

I'd do it. One little finger? For six big ones? You don't get that on Bargain Hunt. And anyway, they reattach it for you. It's like returning your empty ginger bottles to the shop, collecting the money, and then taking the bottles back home with you. An entirely win-win situation. Plus, what quicker way to lose weight - albeit briefly - than to start hacking bits off your body? Come to think of it, that might have made Celebrity Fit Club more interesting; I'd have started with Ann Widdecombe's head.

Anyway, I hope I'm not going out on a limb here, but if someone is willing to pay (pounds) 600 for a pinkie, it begs the six million dollar question: what are the other parts of my body worth? An ear? A big toe? A thumb? Anything I have two of seems worth considering, although they should feel free to take both love handles and needn't bother with the fiddly bit of sewing them back on again.

Of course, I am being disingenuous. It's impossible to consider your body - any body - so dispassionately. The amateur anatomists who are offering the cash may disagree (I once knew of some med students who removed belly buttons from corpses, mounted them in enamel and wore them as badges) but for most of us the human form is completely bound up with ideas of love, sex, sickness, health, innocence, experience, art, sport and pain, all the things that make us people rather than joints of meat with ideas above our station.

That is precisely why the recent public autopsy by Professor Gunther von Hagens, the first to be carried out in 170 years, and televised by Channel 4 in the pursuit of increasing "public knowledge and understanding", caused such a stir.

Speaking personally, it made my skin crawl, my flesh creep - my own body in revolt at the very idea. But for all I was grossed out, I was also engrossed. This may be because we live in our bodies but don't know terribly much about them (until recently I was looking forward to a blissful retirement in the islets of Langherhans; turns out they're something to do with the pancreas). Like someone moving into a house without even viewing it, we are both horrified and fascinated by the dark nooks, wet crannies, complex wiring and odd smells which constitute us.

So when von Hagens plucks a brain from a skull as casually as a ball from the back of a net, we can only gape in awe, as we simply don't think ourselves in such basic physical terms. Can you imagine what personal ads would be like if we did? No longer would a thirtysomething male GSOH seek a twentysomething woman for fun, cuddles and more. It would be more like: cluster of Y chromosomes WLTM similar of X (blonde hair and really pert basal ganglia advantageous).

Let's face it, the human body is an extremely freaky thing and we are in denial about this so that we can get on with our lives. For instance: the stomach has to produce a new layer of mucus every two weeks otherwise it would digest itself. Try mulling that one over while queuing for humus. Then consider the fact that each of us contains enough sulphur to make 2200 matches or to kill all the fleas on an average size dog. Kinda makes the old "daddy or chips?" dilemma seem like a no-brainer, doesn't it?

This basic squeamishness about our physical selves also explains why we are entirely captivated by Michael Jackson's incredible shrinking nose. Quite apart from the question of why one of the world's most wealthy men seems to be holding his schnozzle on with Sellotape when he could surely afford Pritt Stick, Jackson is taking to extremes a basic unease with our bodies that each of us feels to some extent. He disturbs us not because - as some have suggested - he no longer seems human, but because we can actually identify with the self-loathing which has driven him to such excesses.

That's why Wacko Jacko is so effective as a 21st century Struwwelpeter, someone we can point to in order to warn our children not to play with scalpels.

The really sad irony is that Jackson has messed his face up so badly it's impossible to tell how he feels about messing his face up so badly. Martin Scorsese recently complained that so many actresses have had Botox it is hard to find one who can express emotion non- verbally; with Jackson it's gone beyond that - all he expresses is the greed and irresponsibility of his doctors.

God, I don't even want to be writing about Michael Jackson but he makes me want to give him such a shake. You wrote Billie Jean! You're a genius. But you're not the messiah you're a very naughty boy. It's hard to believe that his story is going to have a happy ending, but while I still have some left, I'll keep my fingers crossed for himu Email Peter at peter.ross@sundayherald.com

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