Mark Dolan - Do You Mind if I Put My Hand on it? - Journeys into the Worlds of the Weird

This book is dedicated to anyone who doesn’t ‘fit in’.

Cover Page

Title Page DO YOU MIND IF I PUT MY HAND ON IT? Journeys into the Worlds of the Weird Mark Dolan

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER 1 The World’s Most Enhanced Woman and Me

CHAPTER 2 The World’s Tallest Woman and Me

CHAPTER 3 The World’s Biggest Family and Me

CHAPTER 4 The World’s Cleverest Child and Me

CHAPTER 5 The World’s Smallest Man and Me

EPILOGUE

Acknowledgements

Copyright

About the Publisher

Over the last three years, I’ve met some of the world’s most extraordinary people. Normally, the term extraordinary is used with more than a generous dose of poetic licence. Not here. The human beings I’ve encountered are some of the rarest examples of what nature has to offer up, both in the physical and the mental form. People so utterly alien to what is familiar, that they make a hopeful on Britain’s Got Talent look almost normal. I’ve been in the company of the tallest woman on earth, the smallest man, the cleverest child (according to their parents at least), the largest families, and the most enhanced women (yes, OK, largest breasts). I’ve examined at close range the hair on the face of the hairiest man on Earth, and I’ve even embarked on a road trip with a man so hooked on plastic surgery, he has literally turned himself into a cat.

There was a fierce debate about whether some of these individuals were really record breakers. Some, such as the diminutive men, had their claim for being shortest confirmed in seconds, with the help of my B&Q tape measure. But whatever the measuring technique, which sometimes boiled down to good honest judgement, I gained unprecedented access to a whole range of human beings who are officially extraordinary. People whose physical attributes, whether God-given, or courtesy of a dodgy plastic surgeon in Brazil, mark them out as true one-offs, in the strict definition of the term. Phenomena of nature. People born or butchered to be so demonstrably different from the norm that the footprints they make on the human story are indelible.

Alongside the people I met who were born different were those who chose different. Like the appropriately named Mohammed Daad, a sexed-up, one-legged pensioner in the Emirates who, at the time of writing this, had spawned his 84th child. Reassuringly, more than one exhausted woman was involved. This man was the Hugh Hefner of the Middle East, even though, under the unforgiving Arabian sun, his harem looked more bunny boiler than Playboy bunny. People like Mr Daad are unique because they have opted for a lifestyle which, for most of us, would at best be described as absurd, and at worst as undiluted hell. And they have made choices which take an iron will, money, tears, blood and a massive amount of human fortitude. But why do they do it? And how do they do it?

Examining motives proved to be a central question in my journeys. Not only the motives of the person at the heart of the story, but more tellingly, those around them. The drunken brother-in-law claiming to be the unique person’s agent, the ‘loving husband’ who struck me as a glorified pimp, the proud parent eager to get his seven year old out of school and into university.

I really wanted to uncover why someone would choose such a wildly different lifestyle from the norm, and why, if you look different because of an incredibly rare genetic or medical condition, you would choose to make a career out of that. All too often I found it was the influence of someone else, whether driven by lust, pride, financial opportunism or just an instinctive desire to be around someone that is, for want of a better word, special. But were these other, shadowy figures well meaning, assisting that person to profit from their rare talent? Or were they no better than the bejewelled ‘assistants’ who guided Elvis to his last loo break?

It wasn’t enough, and it wouldn’t be enough, to get to the tallest woman in the world – allegedly Yao Defen in Shanghai, China – say hello, get the tape measure out, and then go home. Or to have my eye nearly taken out by the largest breasts in the world, congratulate their owner and then politely leave. The whole purpose of the endless air miles I notched up (Al Gore hates me) was to know the real person behind the well-distributed photo or YouTube clip. Who is this person? What are they like? How do they feel being different? Are they extraordinary, or surprisingly normal? And is this human fascination with people born different, or who have made extremely unusual choices, actually indicative of something freaky in us? I was convinced these are people we can learn from and must learn from, because their journeys as people, whether self-inflicted or genetic, are completely unique. They haven’t just taken the road less travelled in life, they’ve got down on bended knee and built the road themselves. That’s primarily why I embarked on this journey. That, and I love those nuts you get on airplanes.

On revisiting these amazing stories, one of the most difficult parts of the process has been deciding who not to include. I was so moved by those vulnerable and brave individuals living life with terrible obesity, like 88-stone Manuel Uribe and 46-stone Michael Herrera; Michael thankfully later found a solution in the form of dramatic gastric surgery and Manuel can be incredibly proud of himself, having lost 28 stone since his peak, and in the process earning himself a Guinness record for his astonishing weight loss. Then there were the other big families I met, including the charming Postigo family in Spain and the equally engaging Shepherds in England. There was Angela Bismarchi, the human Barbie doll from Brazil, Adora Svitak, the 10-year-old literary genius, and the Malms, two sets of married twins who live under the same roof – a typically dysfunctional set-up on paper which appears to work beautifully in reality.

The exciting thing about all of this is that as I retread these steps into the worlds of the extraordinary, I am going to take you with me. I hope you enjoy. I’m a reasonable travelling companion. My socks are always clean and I tend not to snore. Just one thing though, please eat with your mouth closed when you are sitting next to me, and also, may I politely ask you bring your own supply of chocolate. I share everything, but not chocolate. And finally, before we go any further, you ought perhaps to know just a little bit more about me. I’ll spare you the lengthy CV and instead, given its relevance to these journeys, will just briefly speed you back to my seven-year-old self…

I’m an unlikely traveller. I grew up in London and until the age of eighteen I’d mainly been to Tenerife, Ireland and Scotland. Does Scotland count as travelling? Probably only if you walk there. In a gorilla suit, for charity. So all in all, it wasn’t the most impressive travel CV. But my people CV, on the other hand, is a little bit better. Though I hadn’t clocked up many air miles by the time these journeys into the extraordinary had started, I had spent my life genuinely preoccupied with people.

I was born in and grew up above a lively and friendly public house in Camden, North London. In it, I had access to a steady stream of characters, some sober, some not, who generated an astonishing amount of colour into the early and formative part of my life. As a child, I would come home from school at half past four in the afternoon, satchel round my shoulder and enter my home via the public bar. As I made a beeline for the door (next to the crisps) marked ‘private’, I would invariably be sucked into a chat with a pensioner or a builder or a taxi driver; take your pick. At that moment I would be entreated to regale them with tales about what I’d learnt from school that day. I remember being roundly, but warmly, lambasted for having English lessons, given that I could clearly already speak the language.