Most people know as much about their bodies as they do about their cars.

They ignore the finer points of physiology and mechanics, and instead adopt a pragmatic approach. Thus, smoke from bonnet equals bad, equals visit to garage. Similarly, blood from botty means something wrong, means appointment with doctor. And, as a car needs a regular MoT to ensure that it remains roadworthy, then it seems logical that the body should have a periodic check to confirm that it’s firing on all cylinders.

So perhaps it’s understandable that annual health MoTs topped the wish list of 1,000 people at a recent health service consultation exercise. What’s less credible is that, as a result, this idea may make its way into the forthcoming primary care White Paper.

True, this parallel between cars and punters can be helpful — I sometimes use it as a patient-friendly communication tool. “You’ve got osteoarthritis” translates into “your shock-absorbers have worn down”; ‘I’m going to prescribe antidepressants becomes “your spark plugs need changing”; and “you have high blood pressure, raised cholesterol and the body mass index of a walrus” means “you’re a write-off”.

Otherwise, this particular road is a cul-de-sac. Building health policy around patient “wants” rather than “needs” may not be new — as GPs grappling with simultaneously increasing consultation length while decreasing waits for appointments will testify — but this initiative cranks up the absurdity level. What will the next focus group demand?

CT scans for all? Don’t get me wrong. You’re very welcome in my surgery — when you’re ill. Currently, though, the average punter already attends more than three times a year. That gives me plenty of scope to promote health opportunistically by checking your cardiovascular stats, nagging you about your smear and berating you for smoking. And if that puts you off coming again for a while, so be it; we have to control demand somehow.

But someone has got the idea that annual MoTs mean more trips to the doctor, which means better health. Wrong. The more you attend, the iller you are. If not to begin with, then certainly after you’ve spent 30 minutes in a coughing, snuffly waiting room being doused in viral droplets.

Dismiss my views as a bad bedside attitude if you will, but science is on my side. Regular health checks offer the illusion of insurance against pathology: research suggests that they’re a waste of time. Which is hardly surprising. Two sorts of people attend well-person clinics.

First, the extremely well: precisely the people who shouldn’t bother. They’re already so health-obsessed that they jog to the surgery and begin the consultation with, “I’ve used a new software program to recalculate my cardiovascular risk”, which increases mine. Then there’s the opposite:

the man dragged to the surgery by his partner. He sits forlornly as she lists his many symptoms and lifestyle failings because “he won’t tell you himself, doctor”. I can’t contribute to either. The lardy potatoes waddle back to their couches, ignoring my advice. And the superfit sprint back to their isotonic, Lycra’d lifestyles needing no input from me.

For the rest of you, somewhere between these two extremes, an invitation to a health MoT will, perversely, leave you feeling vaguely unwell. Because you probably won’t attend — fine if this was an informed decision, but you’re declining by default. It’s too much hassle to book an appointment, given the competing pressures of home, work and social life. So you’re left feeling slighty guilty and unnerved that, should you become ill in the future, then it’s all your fault for not getting your oil changed regularly.

Forget it. Contrary to the drum-banging of the health evangelists, your body will usually tell you when something is up. If you don’t believe me, fair enough: book that health MoT and drive straight to the surgery. With any luck, your car won’t start.

Dr Copperfield is an Essex GP. He also writes for Doctor magazine

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