Thank you, thank you, thank you

Home of Cassoulet, the Foreign Legion, wind and dodgy types....   I haven't been here for so long, but nothing changes in a town like this.  The back street houses are boarded up and up for sale.  They'd go for tuppence ha'penny.
Organ music was coming out of the church on the hill and that's a bit of me, so in I went to check if it was recorded church lift music or the real thing.
I'm not organised enough to be part of an organised religion, but have a weakness for liturgy, ceremony and hymns.
It was real.  The organist coughed and stopped and cursed and played again.
I lit a candle for Papa then felt guilty I hadn't included all the dearly beloved, so quickly thought about them too..  I stopped myself genuflecting because I felt I'd feel like a fraud.
Trad Irish music was being piped through the town' s speakers, L'industrie was still there but closed, the Grand Bassin still wrapped its arms around the canal and the swan island still protected the town from the wind.
I was happy to be seeing all these things again, but was aware that I was being followed.  I'd been whistled at by a couple of ancient Algerians 10 minutes before but wasn't expecting to be followed by a young man.
I scuttled up and down the backstreets in a 'don't look now' kind of way. 
An angel unawares, in the form of a woman changing a car wheel, came to my help.  She saw me back to the car while the boy jumped out of one street and another.   I drove her back home.