"Confronting me (literally) was a rather unattractive concrete church building (not all our villages are chocolate-box material) with a twenty-five foot high blank crucifix painted on it with the words BAPTIST CHURCH writ large underneath."

In the northern British city in which I live there's a somewhat deprived suburb and in the midst of it there's an enormous Catholic monastery. In the 19th century, when the monastery was built, the suburb was even more deprived and the Church appeared to be saying to the suburb's struggling inhabitants: "We don't care about your temporal sufferings - it's your immortal souls we're interested in." Or perhaps they were really saying: "F**k you, you 'losers, we've got all this money and we're going to spend it ALL on this huge gothic monstrosity!"

During the latter half of the 20th century, the gothic monstrosity fell into disrepair (perhaps the Church lost interest?) and then was declared a 'World Heritage Site' (or something) and was 'saved' for the nation; now it's a concert venue. Personally, I would have blown it up - for a start, I really hate Victorian gothic brick churches!