Money for nothing

What’s this? They’re giving out FREE money for just sitting on your derriere all day? Where do I sign up? Surely this could be London’s best-kept money making secret.

Medical trials, they’re a funny old game. However, for some of you the idea of being a human guinea pig might not be that funny at all. But trust me, I’ve been through three jobs, two girlfriends and one marriage since my first trial and I’m still standing. In fact I’ve done so many, I’m now actually a new breed of superhero after a bizarre mix up in the lab between my blood and that of a mutant spider-fish-wolf.

Being sceptical and being scared of turning into a zombie go hand in hand. But lets face it, how many of you clubbers out there swallow ‘medication’ from some dodgy geezer called Dangerous Dave every Saturday night? It’s safer inside with the Whitecoats than out on the town with you nutters!!

Now, we’ve all heard the myths about these trials: getting your big toe lopped off for ten grand, or how about stopping your heart, just for a second mind, in return for the princely sum of £5,000? Is there any truth to these rumours? Hardly. The strangest trials I’ve seen with my x-ray vision eyes were one requiring a simple scraping from some lucky fella's lung and another that involved much drinking of vodka and orange juice at an ungodly hour of the day. And the Viagra trial? Well, who can really say what goes on behind those screen partitions!?

My closest personal experience with anything slightly Clockwork Orange was an injection into my stomach that replicated the effects of Alzheimer’s. I was then given a secondary drug to bring me out of the resulting disorientated state. Thankfully, my toes were all still attached when I came to.

The rules, though, can seem quite draconian to your everyday free spirit - with restrictions on your diet, alcohol consumption and sporting activity. Even your sex life is strictly ‘watched’ over. Give a man a rule, though, and he will no doubt try to break it. I’ve heard of occasions when stealing a sachet of tomato ketchup from the lunch trolley could cost a man £50 in fines. I’ve even seen a grown man risk it all for a dry cheese cracker.

The folk you meet ‘inside’ are very strange (where else would I have learnt how flagrant the Afrikaans language is), and stranger still are their plans to use their newfound wealth. Just recently I met a gent who was using his money to become the first black man to swim the English Channel; another was putting all his money into his entrepreneurial catering supplies business whilst living off the benefits in sunny Spain; and my favourite was the South African guy who wanted to use his trial money to set up an internet porn company. And they say the drugs don’t affect the volunteers’ compos mentis!

Despite the tendency to daydream about pizzas and cold pints of Guinness more than any grown man should do, when that cheque is firmly in your hand after your final blood test, it is tantamount to winning the lottery. You feel absolutely elated.

So, those of you who are a bit short of cash or just find it difficult to meet interesting people anywhere else in London, try contributing your body to medical science. You never know, it might be catching. Just hopefully not in an ‘infectious disease’ sort of way.