Sabbath shrugged graciously. "You know, Doctor, even allowing for the, ah, unique circumstances of your last near-death experience, it's extraordinary how often you're plucked out of trouble at the last minute."
"Is it?"
"Rescuers turn up. Weapons jam. Your companions, who, if you will forgive me, don't strike me as more than usually competent, save the day. Buildings explode immediately after you find the way out. Cities fall just as the TARDIS dematerialises."
"Exaggerated reports, I assure you."
"Electrical currents short-circuit. Evil masterminds make foolish errors. If you fall out of a window, there's something to catch you. If you're drowning, a spar floats by. You find your way unsinged out of burning houses."
"Where do you get all this stuff? I don't remember half of it."
"You survive alien mind probes that would boil the average brain in it's skull. You are dug unharmed from beneath fallen rubble. No one ever shoots you in the head. Deadly drugs turn out not to affect you. Villains tie you up too loosely, and hide-bound tyrants convictions falter at your rhetoric. In short," Sabbath finished smoothly, "in your presence, the odds collapse."
...
"Disaster flies at you," said Sabbath, "and then, suddenly, it swerves aside. As if it encountered a force field."