Ignorance may be bliss but it's unlikely to prove much comfort during a slow and unnecessary death.

"And why do you want a colonoscopy?" the specialist enquired of me last week.

Because I can't get in for a hair-cut? Because I'm fresh out of bum jokes?

"It's not so much that I want one, but rather that I think I should have one," I said to Dr Bottomley.

"I have three kids and I'd like to stay alive long enough to annoy their spouses."

"I see," he said, scribbling furiously. "And do you know what a colonoscopy entails?"

I looked at Bottomley's large oak book shelf - Surgery of the Anus, Rectal Issues, Carry On Up the Colon. And this man was asking me questions?

"Besides there being no point in wearing make-up that day, not really."

"Well, basically I insert this (holds aloft endoscope, or possibly a sanitised garden hose) into here (points to anatomical chart, or possibly a Salvador Dali print) and have a good look around - careful, of course, not to perforate the colon wall, which can necessitate hospitalisation and a colostomy bag."

Gulp.

"Can I pull out halfway through?" I asked. "Or would that make it a semi-colonoscopy?" There are so many good colonoscopy puns out there, it's tough to hold back.

"No. You'll be completely sedated."

If there's one thing I love, it's complete sedation. Complete. Sedation. No-one can demand things of you when you're sedated. "I want ice-cream! I want a divorce!" Sorry, can't hear you, I'm completely sedated.

"Bring it on," I said.

In decades to come, humans will look back on current colonoscopy procedures with the same disbelief we reserve for women having once given birth in stirrups. They are primitive. Cruel.

Enough with the conjoined twins trickery, medical world, how about we work on a colonoscopy preparation that doesn't involve starving people for two days and then shooting their insides out with a liquid bazooka?