'Indeed,' replied Joffy, 'we at the Idolatry Friends of St Zvlkx have secured on his behalf a very favourable deal with Toast, who wanted to have exclusive rights to his likeness and wisdom, if he has any.'

'Nevertheless, I understand the Goliath Corporation were said to be interested?'

'Not really. Goliath have been less than enthusiastic since their sportswear division paid over a quarter of a million for an exclusive sponsorship deal with St Bernadette of Lincoln. But since her return six months ago she has done nothing except brick herself up in a room and pray in silent retrospection, something that doesn't lend itself to selling running shoes. The Toast Marketing Board, on the other hand, made no such demands – they are happy just to see what Zvlkx himself would like to do for them.'

Lydia turned back to the camera.

'Astonishing. If you've just joined us this is a live telecast of the second coming of the thirteenth-century saint, Thomas Zvlkx.'

I looked at my watch again. Zvlkx was now five minutes late. Lydia carried on with her live broadcast, interviewing several other people to soak up time. The crowd grew slightly impatient and a low murmuring started to emerge from the expectant silence. Lydia had just asked a style guru about the sort of clothes they might be expecting Zvlkx to be wearing when she was interrupted by a shout. Something was happening just outside Tesco's between the child's coin-in-the-slot flying elephant ride and the letterbox. Joffy vaulted over the press enclosure and ran towards where a column of smoke was rising from a crack that had opened up in the mother-and-child parking area. The sky grew dark, birds stopped singing and shoppers coming out of the revolving doors stared in astonishment as a bolt of lightning struck the weathered stone arch and split it asunder. There was a collective cry of alarm as a wind sprang up from nowhere. Pennants advertising new Saver product lines which were hanging limply on the flagpoles came loose with a crack and a whirling mass of dust and waste paper spread across the car park, making several people cough.

Within a few moments it was all over. Sitting on the ground and dressed in a rough habit tied with a rope at the waist was a grubby man with a scraggy beard and exceptionally bad teeth. He blinked and looked curiously around at his new surroundings.

'Welcome,' said Joffy, the first on the scene, 'I represent the Idolatry Friends of St Zvlkx and offer you protection and guidance'

The thirteenth-century monk looked at him with his dark eyes, then at the crowd which had gathered closer to him, everyone talking and pointing and asking him whether they could have their pictures taken with him.

'Your accent is not bad,' replied St Zvlkx slowly. 'Is this 1988?'

'It is, sir. I've brokered a sponsorship deal for you with the Toast Marketing Board.'