A drunk staggers down the main street of a town and up the church steps. He manages to open the church door and falls into the silent building. On his hands and knees he weeps as he struggles to pull himself to his feet, half crawling and half walking towards the front of the church. He crashes from pew to pew softly crying, ‘Oh God help me, God help me,’ until he finally makes it into the confessional box. Having observed the man’s sorry progress the priest sits silently in the booth, waiting to hear the drunk’s tale. He waits for several minutes, hearing the drunk moan and groan, until finally there is a lengthy silence from the drunk’s side of the confessional. At last the priest speaks. ‘May I help you my son?’ he says. ‘I don’t know father,’ the drunk replies. ‘It depends on whether or not you have any paper on your side.’