The Da Vinci Code, The Holy Grail, And A Satirical Wheelbarrow At Rosslyn Chapel

I have, as you may have noticed, been away. I spent the best part of the last week attempting to work the Gaz stove whilst listening to the percussion of the rain on the rusting lid of the Dormobile. It was not a relaxing break, but my measure of a good holiday was best summed up by Mr Frank Sinatra, who famously observed that while it is nice to go a-travellin', it's so much nicer at home. (This is not strictly true, as my home is currently infested with clothes moths and Peruvian horny gollochs, but I cling to the sentiment).
I hope, over the next few days, to share the joys of my holiday.
On Easter Sunday, I ventured to Rosslyn Chapel in Midlothian, in search of the Holy Grail. I was not alone. Mr Dan Brown's book, The Da Vinci Code, has led a stream of unlikely pilgrims to the place, looking for answers to a question that most of them seem to have forgotten.
I have not read this book, and do not intend to waste the flickering remnants of my eyesight in doing so, but I am assured that as a work of prose it makes Mr Jeffrey Archer look like Mr Marcel Proust. The book has obviously made on impact on the chapel, which charges visitors £7 to admire its crumbling masonry. Sadly, this means that it is no longer a place of contemplation. I would not be surprised to see "interactive" displays there soon.
I was, however, cheered by the subtle comment of a local farmer on the whole "Da Vinci" business (see photo).