Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

I hope you all had a happy and festive New Year celebration?  Good!

Ol’ Robbo’s was, alas, defined by the fact that at about fifteen seconds to midnight I was hurrying down the basement stairs to see the “ball drop” in Times Square on teevee.  Everyone else, including several friends of the Gels, were already there.

As I scuttled down, my foot hit a patch of wet (I strongly suspect one of the kids splashed some soda).  The result? My leg shot out from under me and I tumbled the rest of the way down.

As I happened to be carrying a glass of wine at the time – most of which splashed all over me – and as I ended up at the bottom somewhat wide-eyed and discombobulated, let us say that appearances were …… against me.

In my defense, I pointed out to anyone who would listen for two seconds that a) I managed to control my fall so that I landed on my backside, and b) I didn’t drop my glass.  Unfortunately, I fear that such exculpatory evidence didn’t cut much ice, and that the collective opinion was that ol’ Robbo was one over the eight.

Ah, well.