Well, if I'm floating around the Cambridgeshire skies in the RHS of my father's flying club Cessna and the donk conks out, I'll be sure to keep your message in mind as the terra threatens to become all too firma. "Don't worry, dad", I'll say. "It's no big deal."
I used to work for Amstrad. Alan Sugar used to keep a fist-sized lump of metal on his desk, and one day I asked him what it was. Turned out to be just one of the bits they extracted from the engine of his plane after it decided to explosively self-disassemble one day at a couple of thousand feet above Southend airport. That was some time ago, even then, but I suggest that anyone who tried to tell him that it wasn't that much of a problem would be swiftly disabused of the idea... You should try it. It'd be entertaining.
R