|It's worth reading what's written on the sign, if you can.|
It being lunchtime, we bethought ourselves of the inner man. Moot house or no moot house, we shared poured out beakers in the White Horse and partook of the food of a bygone age. Not perhaps the age of the Beaker People, but I had chicken kiev and chips for the first time in decades, and my companion had sausage, egg and chips. Sort of time travel, really.
And we greeted the Archdruid from afar. And do so again now.