Try to explain to a police officer that the only reason not wearing seatbelts while driving a 1952 MG is because the thing simply does not have any. And does not need any. “But that is dangerous!” Duh. So is crossing the street. A couple of months ago, I was pulled over by one of his colleagues for speeding with a borrowed Lotus. The radar spotted me doing 122 kilometres an hour (!), on a highway limited to 120. I was sternly reminded that: “speeding was bad for me”. And that the Lotus had no airbags. My Audi has a yellow sticker warning me that putting my fingers in the cooling fan might not be the best of ideas.
While typing this, I try to enjoy a sex-on-the-beach (the cocktail, that is…), which is difficult, seen that most bottles involved assure me that alcohol is bad. Red meat and foie gras are murderous. Foreign money will give me exotic diseases. Enjoying the one day of sunny weather will surely get me skin cancer.. I love my work and hectic lifestyle so much, it will mess up my cardio-vascular system, and too much air lining in the stratosphere is –according to all these experts- certainly interfering with some crucial bits of my unique and precious DNA.
My neighbour is convinced that my Wifi network and my preference for wireless gadgets will grow me another head. There is anti-biotics in farmed salmon, PCB’s in milk, modified molecules in bottled water and hallucinogens in mushrooms. Flying back from Seattle, a 37 year old lady tried to convince me that I should ditch my Breitling: radium hands you know, glow in the dark…
Jeremy Clarkson (from Topgear) is right: maybe global warming will kill us in the end. But I am far more concerned about the people who have made it their sworn duty to keep me alive, unconditionally, against all odds, at all cost. 
