I made it into this world only because I was in the right place at the right time.

The Nazis had already started on their selective breeding by the time I was born but, thankfully, the English Channel kept them at bay.

And as far as the right time is concerned, had I been conceived now, my parents would have been advised to abort me.

And after this week’s news about ‘genetic MOTs’ – a step nearer designer baby selective breeding – even more foetuses may face the chop for no other reason than they’re not blue-eyed blonds.

I wouldn’t have been born because of – apologies if you’re reading this with your morning muesli – faulty bowels. I weighed-in at 10lb 6oz and three weeks later I was lighter than two bags of sugar.

‘Miracle Baby’, bannered my local weekly, while dad developed his own comedy routine about my prodigious projectile vomiting.

My friend, hair-lip Harry he called himself, was also glad he was born before baby scans, amniocentesis tests and genetic MOTs.

So was another pal with a clubbed foot.

Genetic MOT-ers want to abort any who might have malfunctions like cystic fibrosis, yet I took the funeral of one sufferer who’d enjoyed – despite daily chest/back pummellings – two productive and inspiring decades.

Remember Elijah who starred in this column two years ago?

Twice Blackburn doctors advised abortion yet Eli was born perfectly healthy and thrives to this day.

Playing God, even for the best of motives, can be a murderous business.