Click on the picture to enlargeIt appeared that somebody had donated my vital organs to the National Health Service (once I'm dead, obviously) without my knowing. Anyway, at first I passed it off as a lame attempt at a prank from one of my wonderfully resourceful friends. It's the kind of thing my friends like to do, so it made perfect sense. Then, speaking to one of my university coursemates about the obscurity of the letter, I was reminded that organ donation can't be officiated without some kind of signature of recognition being given from the person in question. All of a sudden the letter seemed slightly surreal. I didn't recall signing off my organs for donation at any point in the recent past? It seemed like a pretty big decision to make too, so I felt confident I would remember it, if I had indeed signed something. Staring at the piece of paper, I felt bemused. Who would have gone to the expense of masquerading as me, just to pull a prank like this? It wasn't even that funny. Its not like they would have been there to see me open the letter, either. It seemed kind of pointless. That's when it hit me. My title was in front of my name on the envelope and on the donation card, just before my address. Suddenly, it all made sense. The NHS obviously considered me someone of 'high stock' now I was officially a Lord. Clearly, it was the law for someone of my stature to pass their organs onto somebody else when I die. I was a Lord for God's sake. Of course it was the law. Initially I was annoyed that I hadn't even been notified about it, but then I thought about the lucky person that would one day get to be part-Lord too, and that made me feel better about myself. It appeared that finally I had something to offer the world. Even if it was to be random pieces of my insides.
Lord Christopher Ward