It is a complicated world we live in and quite a risky one as well.

No, I am not talking about Iraq, just everyday life. It has its fair share of pitfalls, if the microscope is run over what could happen.

I am talking about the growing industry of risk management and why things have suddenly become more dangerous or, in fact, have been made safer, depending on which way you look at it.

A few weeks ago I wrote about a couple of weddings that I went to and one, in particular, at a bowls club where we all had a bit of fun.

What I didn’t mention was that a work colleague, who I sat with, had spent many years in the risk management field. It was a side of him I hadn’t seen before.

But speaking of sides or fronts, in fact, I did notice that the shirt he had on was straining to the limit in regard to the buttons that were holding it together.

At the time, with a couple of schooners under my tail, I thought it quite funny to point out to his wife that maybe he should do a risk management assessment on the possibility of the cotton letting go and launching a button into someone’s eye. Got a few laughs and kept me amused for a few minutes, then it was forgotten.

That was, until Monday morning, when a very animated risk management expert met me at my office door with: “Well thanks a lot, you idiot. Now every time I go to the fridge to get a beer or something to eat my wife asks me about the buttons on my shirt.”

Now, at the time, I was just a bit chuffed that one line could do such damage but over the next few weeks I learnt that it was probably a huge mistake because I was now standing between a man and his beer, so I was public enemy number one.

It was a bit like poking a bear with a stick - all of a sudden I had an adversary who looked like Boo Boo but had the wit of Yogi.

Since then, we have had a running battle of wits, with me unfortunately being unarmed in that department. I have changed jobs but because I am still acting on their behalf in a number of matters, I still have access to their building.

Of course, my newfound nemesis, who incidentally took possession of my office the day I left but had been circling like a vulture for a few days before my departure, found it particularly off-putting that I was allowed back in the building whenever I felt like it.

On one particular day I should have known things would only go from bad to worse.

I refuelled my bike, convinced there was something wrong with the fuel gauge, even though it was saying it was nearly full.

So, there I was, squeezing fuel slowly into the tank, gazing around, when I looked down to find my bike, and the cement, covered in unleaded.

I had just learnt that if you go really slowly the thing doesn’t click off. So with staff at the service station assessing the risk of me blowing myself up on ignition, I left them to put a metre of sand on the mess.

Access to my former employers’ building also means the gym.

At lunch time, as I was heading that way, I was met by my adversary, who told me that it was a risk me using the gym, etc, and I simply replied, “Ring Harry”, as I went through the door.

On conclusion, I was having a shower when I realised that I had left my towel hanging on the wall in the common area of what is a uni-sex change room.

Now there was no-one around and, not being overly keen to put wet clothes on, I thought it fairly safe to dash across and grab it.

But unfortunately I have no experience in risk management and didn’t realise that with a few litres of waters falling off my fat naked body, the tiles would become slippery. I skated across them with aplomb and somehow ended up face-down on the deck.

It seemed to take forever for me to fall, with thoughts of my arch enemy being right there, but more importantly, images of breaking a leg or some other incapacitating injury that would immobilise me on the floor in the toilets until someone else came in.

My God, all this before I landed - thankfully, safely.

I can only be thankful that there was a sign on the door that read: “Please knock before entering.”

Now that’s risk management.