On Misfortune, Fine Print and Fifteen Uninsured Years
How’s your life been over the past 15 years?
A friend, visiting from Bermuda, asked the question. I’d not seen him in that long since I was ejected from the island paradise.
Life’s been OK, I replied, but as the conversation continued, I realised that perhaps it hadn’t.
In those 15 years, I’ve been burgled, slandered, libelled, bankrupted, knocked down by a bicycle, electrocuted and strangled. Plus, I unwittingly ingested poison that left me one notch away from death on the Richter Scale of digestive problems, suffered a debilitating attack of sciatica, and went through COVID (like everyone else). Oh, and I was forced out of my home for two years due to unnecessary repairs.
My friend, an underwriter, asked how many insurance claims I had made in the period. “You must have brought half the industry to its knees,” he joked.
He was wrong. I haven’t made a single claim.
I don’t have home insurance. If I did, I couldn’t have claimed for losses on the burglary (my fault; I left the front door open) or the eviction (law of the land).
It was the UK government that bankrupted me, albeit temporarily, so no insurance would have helped. Defamation insurance against slander or libel is a bit out of my league.
On the health front, the insurance industry was the winner from my various misfortunes.
Back in London, fresh from Bermuda’s American-style private health system, I bought comprehensive health insurance from a well-known European insurer. Three years later, when the cost became prohibitive, I switched to a smaller UK-based provider.
The latter told me I had not been insured for the previous three years, and advised me to contact the former insurer, but I let it go. People so rarely win, one way or the other, when they take on corporate giants.
I continued with the second carrier until sciatica rendered me incapable of walking. When I contacted the insurer for help, its website advised me that not owning a mobile phone meant I had breached the conditions of the coverage.
Again, I let it go. I have no doubt that somewhere in the 48 pages of terms and conditions the need for a mobile phone had been spelled out. I cancelled the policy and did not renew with anyone else. Sciatica, apparently, cannot be treated, merely endured, so no assistance would have been possible anyway.
Neither the electrocution by faulty shredder, nor the poisoning would have resulted in a claim, since I was arguably at fault in both cases. D’oh!
A government doctor treated my leg injuries after the bike hit me, so again, no insurer was troubled. (My local authority transferred the bikers onto the sidewalks for their own safety, making an actuarial decision that the lives of old pedestrians were cheaper than those of fit, young bicycle riders.)
The hefty premiums paid for no health insurance for many years still irks, but not much. One should read the terms and conditions of insurance policies, but I didn’t. Have you read yours?
Despite these many reverses, I’ve enjoyed the last 15 years.
With luck, the next 15 might be less eventful. &

