Cathedral

It's a wet Sunday.  The type where nothing much stirs the spirit and you feel sad because the weekend hours are numbered and it's raining.  

I park up in the Cours de Docteur Chabaud and, feeling a mid afternoon digestive slump, can't think of a better way to get round the cathedral than by going through it. 

Full of lethargy but good intentions,  I push the little South door open and am quietly ambushed by Bruno who is hidden behind the door nursing his bicycle. The words that leave my mouth are not worthy of a place of worship.  I run out of the door, look at my feet in shame and am delighted with what I see.