But then what about those kids who for some obscure reason decide to stuff their heads in between the bars of a steel fence then discover the things on the sides of their heads called ears are actually a tad restrictive when reverse is selected.
At least they get to meet the local fire brigade.
And I think most of us have come across someone who has got their finger stuck in a steel tube or ring.
I heard of one clown who actually got one of his toes stuck in the cold tap while he was lounging back in the bath.
I daresay apart from "you absolute idiot" his wife would have also said "the fire brigade is here - for heaven's sake cover yourself with the flannel".
And so, drifting back to that opening line, what do you do when you realise you are stuck?
Well in my case you laugh.
And you whisper "I can't believe this" as you imagine a couple of firefighters coming to the back door and asking "so where is he?"
And then hearing them walk into the bathroom below and one of them remarking that some jobs are left to people who are actually able to carry them out...without someone having to call the fire brigade...for a second opinion.
But there was no danger of the fine fire folk popping by as there was no one else in the house at the time I chose to take the journey to physical neutrality, or as I came to tag it later when back in the world of normality (or near normality) Mission Impossible.
Although it was not, I initially argued (with myself of course) before edging up into the ceiling, as I had done it before.
A fairly long time ago, but that was simply not a factor.
I had taken that aerial and constricted path before so there was no reason I could not take it again.
Now such a stoic approach is the domain of the determined, but also the stupid.
Just because you were able to do something once doesn't mean you can go out and do it again...especially when time becomes a factor in the "of course I can do it" equation.
To cut to the chase...we have an air filter ventilation type device anchored up there in the tight confines of the ceiling space above the bathroom.
Now it was fine and dandy for the lads who installed it because judging by their physiques they would have excelled as half-backs in the school First XV.
I, on the occasion I did once replace the filter, would have excelled as maybe the coach?
But on the most recent occasion I concede now I would have excelled only as the old bloke who is assigned to take the oranges out at half time.
Put it this way.
The head and the heart were willing but the back, the legs, the arms, the wrists, the shoulders, the knees...well basically everything really, were not.
It were the knees which led the coup against me.
Knees of more than six decades now which have been repaired twice after the motorcycle misdemeanours of my young years...them and the wrists.
So I got up the stepladder ok and edged my top half into the tight ceiling confines then sort of half rolled to try and bend the knees to get the bottom half up there...which succeeded only in getting wedged in like a rookie contortionist.
Who could only then laugh at what would looked like a scene from a Carry On film...or maybe a Hammer Horror.
But at the end of the day, and believe me it seemed like I was up there pretty well until the end of the day, I managed to bend and buffer every bone and joint in my back and legs to get there...and I replaced the filter.
That took 33 seconds, while it took about 33 minutes to get up there and down again.
So as a chap in denial of what age does what's my advice to anyone contemplating Mission Impossible?
Give it a go.
It's always good to say gidday to the fire brigade.