Lyon I discovered is not a place for the gastronomically feint hearted. Bouchons are traditional lace-curtained, wood-lined little bistros particular to Lyon, a city often called the “stomach” of France. They began as local inns that sprang up to serve simple home-cooked meals to the Lyon’s silk workers (les canuts), in the 18th century. By the period between the world wars, the bouchons were run by “les meres”, formidable women who had worked as cooks for the wealthy bourgeois families of the region. Their menus were local, their tables check-clothed, with humble rooms humble, and relatively small bills.

The bouchon is all about tradition. Their ethos is that to dine properly, you must surrender to the god of pork fat, giving yourself over to it with full heart and empty belly. Well my heart is probably fairly full already, but not necessarily of good material, so my pre-match meal was of a much lighter variety.

Tonight’s Group A encounter between France and Italy was effectively a knock-out match, with the winner progressing to the quarter finals, and the loser heading out of the tournament.

Fabien Galthie’s men made their final road show stop at the Groupama Stadium, via Lille and Marseille, before heading north to join the bedbugs of Paris for the knock-out stages.

It took just over a minute for France to score their first try as their forwards steamrollered Italy to create a wonderful touchdown for none other than Damian Penaud.

The power, pace and accuracy of France was evident from minute one, and four first half tries gave them a bonus point after 37 minutes and a 31-0 Half time lead.

Roared on by a racous home crowd France started the second half as they did the first. Jalibert’s 46th minute try was followed by touchdowns from Mauvaka and a Moefana brace

Italy’s error count was as astronomical as France’ ruthlessness, and the final score reflected both elements. A late consolation try for Manuel Zuliani was a small crumb of comfort for the Azzuri.