This Sessions blog is brought to us by Jim at Two Parts Rye and Stumbling Home is right up my alley. I have a few years under my belt so some things I remember will not make sense to some of the younger bloggers, but the old farts and fartesses will understand.

Back in the day we didn't stumble home in my small southern Ontario town, we stumbled to the car. I remember a night after the pub were I stumbled to my car, (a green 1960 pontiac Laurentian with a 283 engine and 3 speed on the floor, affectionately known as the 'Toad'), with a couple of friends and put the key in the ignition. Does anyone remember angle parking? Well I was angle parked in front of a frost fence and on my first attempt to put the car in reverse I immediately bumped the fence. Since I was facing the fence I couldn't figure out what was going on. I tried again to reverse out and bumped the fence again. I was getting all kinds of sage advice from my buddies as to what was going wrong when I recieved a tap on my shoulder. (It was a warm July day and I had my window open). I looked up into the bloodshot eyes of Officer Lou. No, wait the bloodshot eyes were mine. Like I said it was a small town and Officer Lou said to me, "John, you and the boys get in the cruiser and give me the keys." He then proceeded to give us all a ride home and when he dropped me off at my house he told me that he would be watching my car over the next 12 hours and it had better not have been moved. Then he gave me my keys.
Forward to 2000 and something. We were and still are having beer tastings at my house and after an early morning tasting of either Unibrou's La Fin du Monde or perhaps one of the Faxe brews from Denmark we retired on foot to the local pub. A few more beers there and my friend and partner in all things beery, Nemsis, and I decided to walk back to my place with me hoping against all odds that perhaps the wife had gone out. No such luck, but that is another story albeit an ugly one. Never mind. This whole little jaunt covers a parking lot, crosses a street and then a block and a half of sidewalk. Simple right? Not for this old cowpoke. Somehow I managed to fall off the sidewalk, (Hell there's a 1/2 inch drop to the driveway we where passing.), and upon getting home with a fair amount of help from the aforementioned Nemsis I discovered that I had torn the left knee out of my jeans and when wiping off the blood discovered a good sized cut on my knee in the shape of a cross. I had found God! This was a sign from above that I shouldn't drink and walk anymore than I should drink and drive. I still follow that rule. I walk to the pub and get someone to drive me home. Good plan eh wot? So what now you ask? In just a couple of years I can collect my social security alias old age pension and then I shall hire a limo to chaffeur me from pub to pub. Sure, and pigs will learn to fly!!!