Why do I spend so much on insurance? Isn’t it just gambling? But more boring?

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Let me tell you something about insurance. It’s not just gambling it’s guilt-ridden, beige, middle-aged gambling with a clipboard and a deductible. You don’t even get a cocktail waitress or a slot machine. You get a man named Gary in a polyester tie telling you your premium went up because someone in your postcode sneezed near a Volvo!

I mean really, insurance is like dating a Woman who says, “I’ll be there for you… unless you actually need me.” You pay and pay and pay, and what do you get? A pamphlet. A pamphlet! I had a better return on investment from my three legged greyhound!

You want to know why it’s so expensive? Because they’ve got you by the assets. You can’t drive without it, you can’t own a home without it, and God forbid you try to go abroad without travel insurance. You miss one connecting flight and suddenly you’re in a Bulgarian hospital arguing over whether your gallbladder counts as “carry-on.”

And health insurance? Oh please. That’s not coverage, that’s a scavenger hunt. “We’ll cover your knee surgery, but only if it’s on a Tuesday, performed by a left-handed surgeon, and you chant the national anthem backwards while submitting Form 82-B in triplicate.”

It’s like they took the thrill of Vegas and replaced it with paperwork. You don’t get to roll the dice, you get to email them. And don’t even get me started on pet insurance. I paid £300 a year so my dog could get a tooth cleaning. A tooth cleaning! Meanwhile, I haven’t seen a dentist since the Spice Girls were relevant.

But we do it. We do it because we’re terrified. Terrified of floods, fires, falling pianos, and the one time your cousin Richard tried to deep-fry a turkey in his garage. We insure everything our homes, our cars, our teeth, our travel, our lives. I even tried to insure my jokes once. They said they were “too high-risk.”

So yes, it’s gambling. But instead of blackjack, you get actuarial tables. Instead of roulette, you get a call centre in Oxford. And instead of winning, you get a £500 excess and a polite letter saying, “We regret to inform you that your claim has been denied due to clause 17, subsection 4, paragraph ‘Go to hell.’”

Now excuse me while I go insure my sarcasm. It’s the only thing I’ve got left that’s still sharp.

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