The old church stood in the middle of the deserted village. Its heavy wooden door creaked open as we entered, our footsteps bouncing off the ancient stone floor echoing around the empty nave until we reached the altar. There, just in front of the altar, was the place we had come to see: the simple and blink-and-miss-it final resting place of a man whose contribution to the world is nothing short of sparkling.
Feeling a touch underwhelmed I looked for something a little more befitting: a small pop-up bar, perhaps, or maybe an ice bucket. But there was nothing.
