The church door is open. Inside the mayor and a group of villagers are having a heated discussion. The life size crucifix outside the graveyard has developed a list. Not a major one but a list nonetheless. It's now leaning six or seven degrees to the right and four or five degrees forwards. The long dry winter followed by heavy rains have loosened the concrete that holds the wooden beam into the brick plinth.
The discovery was made by the little lady in the purple hat who had the misfortune to be crossing the churchyard when a gust of wind caused the statue to lurch towards her. Somewhat traumatised she is now reduced to saying '' I knew it would come to this ". The village odd job man suggests we charge pilgrims to come and see the swaying Jesus. The lady in the purple hat tells him he's a heathen. He tells her to get a life. At this point everyone starts to talk at once and Angus decides that it's time to make an exit.
Bob watches the comings and goings from his stump seat. Sophie stands on her hind legs, front paws on the gate providing encouragement.
Just another day of village life in deepest, deepest France profonde.