The following correction was printed in the Observer's For the record column, Sunday March 7 2004
The article below implied that Ingfield Manor School in West Sussex was the only school in the UK providing Conductive Education. In fact, 30 centres are registered in Britain. Alice Randall is six. When a botched amniocentesis caused her to be born 14 weeks early with cerebral palsy, doctors told her parents to just invest in a good wheelchair.

'My reply shouldn't be repeated, but I wasn't having that,' says her father, Peter. 'From that moment our own lives became entirely about helping Alice.'

His battle hit the headlines last December when he offered to sell his kidney on the internet auction site Ebay to send Alice to a special school. Now, speaking for the first time, he has revealed the desperation driving him to risk his life for his only child.

'I'm not scared of damaging my health, or worse, by selling my kidney if it gives Alice the chance of a relatively independent life,' he says. 'I don't agree with anyone having to sell their organs for profit, but what alternative do I have?'

He made his decision when Kent local education authority refused to pay for Alice to attend the only school in Britain that provides the therapy she needs. Instead, it insisted Alice goes to a mainstream school where she deteriorated to the point her parents feared she would never recover.

'When it comes to our own children, morals and ethics go out of the window,' says Randall. 'My life compared to that of a six-year-old girl is of far less significance to me.'

Talking exclusively to The Observer just days before he flies to America to see if his kidney will match one of the three most lucrative bids he has received, Randall is determined to reveal why he has been forced into making such a dramatic decision.

It wasn't until a year after her birth that Alice was diagnosed with cerebral palsy, a delay her father says wasted vital time in starting therapy.

'We were told to just accept that Alice would never be able to move her legs or arms, or even her head,' he says. 'I'd never heard of cerebral palsy but thank God for the internet. I discovered Conductive Education, a new form of therapy practised in one London-based centre in the UK, run by the Scope charity.'

The Randalls visited the centre and, after four hours, began to see differences in Alice's behaviour. 'We knew she had to keep going there,' said Randall.

Before long, Alice had built up the muscles that let her move her arms and straighten her head. 'She became a normal little girl from the waist up. It was painfully hard work for such a little one, but she stuck with it and the results were way beyond our wildest imaginings.'

With no help from their local authority or the NHS, the Randalls raised £45,000 to send her to the centre for four years, as well as buying special equipment to continue the therapy at home. But when Alice turned five and had to go to school, a whole new set of problems opened up. 'We had no money left by then,' said Randall.

Then they discovered the independent Ingfield Manor special needs school in West Sussex that specialised in Conductive Education. They were told that if Alice attended for two to three years she would have a good chance of being able to live a relatively independent life. But the cost was £55,000 a year and Randall had no chance of paying for it himself. He approached his education authority in Kent and asked it to fund his daughter.

Kent, however, refused and insisted Alice attend a mainstream local primary school. 'She was living proof Conductive Education worked, but they were saying she didn't need it,' says Randall.

The Randalls lost an appeal and last year Alice began attending the local primary school where she is strapped into her seat for six hours while the other children in the class run around freely.

'It's devastating for her. She's not mentally disabled at all - her IQ is above average - and it's devastating for her to watch all the other children doing things that she can't.'

The enforced inactivity worsened Alice's condition and, desperate, Randall turned to the internet where he came across a site in which a father in Colombia, in the US, told how he sold his kidney to pay for an operation for his son. 'I felt I'd stumbled across the answer,' he says.

Without even discussing it with his partner, Jennifer Stanbury, Randall posted an advertisement on Ebay, offering his kidney for £100,000. A local radio station heard of the advertisement and events took on a new momentum.

'I had the nation's media camping outside my door for three days. I had to escape over the back fence when I wanted to leave the house,' says Randall, still baffled and amused by the drama of it all.

'I hadn't wanted any of that. I wanted to sell my kidney quickly and covertly, and get Alice back into Ingfield. But once the circus started up, I would have been a fool to turn my back on it because of the publicity.'

When the BBC covered the story, inadvertently broadcasting Randall's email address as they showed an image of his advertisement, things really went crazy.

'Offers and inquiries were flooding in from around the world,' said Randall. 'Some were sincere, most desperate, many completely obscene.'

Nine offers came from Harley Street, says Randall. 'They didn't care that it is completely illegal in this country, but I did. I wanted nothing to do with them.'

Other offers were just as unsuitable, such as the email and phone calls from one man who said he worked on the black market and that, though he couldn't afford to pay £110,000 for Randall's kidney alone, he would pay that if Stanbury sold hers too.

But he also received serious offers: for £80,000, £87,000 and £92,000 - all from America - and then the Sun set up a campaign that soon totalled £24,500. A small local charity offered Randall £30,000, on condition that he keep his kidney, but, though touched by the kindness of strangers, Randall has not wavered in his determination to sell his kidney.

'I can't stop now. The only thing that matters is raising the full £110,00 because Alice needs to go to Ingfield for at least two years,' he said.

What is less heartwarming, however, is the litany of denial and refusal the family has undergone. Kent local authority refuses to fund Alice's place at Ingfield, the NHS has only offered Alice one hour every fortnight of physiotherapy and the primary school has failed to provide her with the promised level of care.

Scope, which funds the Ingfield school, has also been unhelpful. Local authorities pay £104,000 to send children to Ingfield, but individuals are charged £110,000 and, despite the desperate nature of the Randall's case, Scope has refused to compromise on the extra £6,000.

Ingfield itself has also not been entirely charitable. Although the Randalls now have enough money to send Alice for two terms, the school only recently backed down on its refusal to enrol children unable to pay for three terms in advance.

Added to all this, Randall is still locked in a battle with their local hospital over the botched amniocentesis that caused Alice's cerebral palsy.

The family is struggling to stick together. Both Randall and Stanbury have to work full time, so Alice and her mother have moved in with her grandmother in Tunbridge Wells.

'It's a tough arrangement but two parents in full-time work can't give Alice the care she needs,' says Randall, who sees his family four times a week. 'Our own lives have been on hold since the day Alice was born and continues to be. It's as simple as that.'