Mrs. Druid and I were in Nevers in the Loire Valley.

We were using a system of eating likes Kings and Queens one day, then paupers the next to make up for it, and keep the costs down to a dull roar.

So having pigged out the previous night we were looking for something cheap and cheerful. Found what was basically "The Station Cafe". Full of French persons looking happy. Obviously a good choice, we thought.

There were three things on the menu. The most expensive was meatballs and pasta, so we had that. Very tasty, if a little sweet. But that could just have been sugar to cut the acidity in the tomato-based sauce.

When we left, we looked at the printed menu outside the cafe. It made it quite clear that all they cooked was horse. As Mrs. Druid does not speak French, I chose to keep the information to myself, however, the next night in Orleans, I insisted on having pizza, just to make sure there were no more strange ingredients in my dinner.

This French love of scoffing horse for their dinners is a great pointer to their other National Pastime - their love of retreating. They eat horse. Horses bolt when startled and tend to run away from whatever or whoever it is that is startling them. Enemy armies tend to make a lot of startling noises, so the brave French persons intent on defending valiantly are suddenly overcome by all the horse-y bits they have ingested and bolt for the quiet spaces.