FOR some reason I got really, really excited when I read that the Belgian city of Ghent is about to become the first in the world to go vegetarian once a week.

A lovely picture of a man sailing a giant aubergine across Ghent harbour advertises the new campaign.

When did Belgium go from being the world’s most boring country, to the place I’d most like to visit?

As soon as I mentioned the boringness of Belgium in the office I was shouted down by colleagues who started telling me things they love about the place.

One was instantly aroused by the memory of an ex-girlfriend’s handmade lacy knickers from Belgium and another said that this year’s Eurovision song contest entry from the country is an Elvis impersonator.

Another brightened up with the memory of a drunken weekend in Belgium with 100 firemen.

But back to vegetarianism… starting today, Ghents 5,000 Elvis-impersonating civil servants and lace knicker-wearing elected politicians have agreed to eat only vegetarian meals.

Schoolchildren will follow suit with their own ‘veggiedag’ every Thursday from September. It is hoped the move will cut Ghent’s environmental footprint and help tackle obesity.

Now I’m not quite sure why this all excites me so much. As a vegetarian for 25 years it really, really, really doesn’t bother me whether other people eat meat or not.

I mind a bit when they apologise for eating meat in front of me (why would I care — it’s not as if its one of my relatives or pets they’re tucking into?)

I do mind if people put raw meat in my fridge though. I just don’t like the smell. I’m OK about sweeping up the blood and guts which the cat brings into the kitchen most mornings, but he has the good grace not to put it in the fridge.

And it does upset me a bit that people make assumptions and wrongly categorise all vegetarians as radical, animal activist, health freaks.

Obviously I care about global warming and world poverty, but I don’t think it’s my job to convert anybody else.

Maybe it’s purely selfish, because it means that at long last there will be at least one European city I can go to on holiday and not have to survive on wine, cheese and bread for the entire week.

While I was in Spain last year I went into one tapas restaurant where every single thing on the menu had fish and meat in it somewhere. I told the waiter not to worry, I’d just have wine and olives for my dinner. But when he brought out the olives I realised that they were stuffed with anchovies too. He was so embarrassed that he ran down the road to ask for a dish of olives from a friend.

But now Ghent is leading the way. It is one of 370 European Climate Cities, and apparently they may all join in the meat-free day.

The participating cities are going to get cafes and restaurants to provide at least three veggie choices on the menu. I know that might not sound very exciting to the rest of you, but it will be lovely for me to be able to go into a restaurant and be able to do the whole ‘Mmm, let’s see, what shall I choose?’ thing, rather than …’I'll have the veggie option’.

But I don’t think it’s all going to be plain sailing. I looked on Ghent’s website and there are only seven veggie restaurants in the whole city. They’re going to be packed on a Thursday.

And I’m hoping that the city’s school dinner ladies are better at veggie cooking than the ones in this country. All three of my children have tried school dinners at one stage or another — mostly because I get so fed up making packed lunches.

A whole generation of little Belgians could be put off vegetarianism for good unless they teach their school cooks how to make tasty meatless dishes.

While on the subject of Belgium, my son was convinced in his first year at school that Jesus’ mum was called the Belgian Mary (he used to have a bit of a hearing problem).

He was only about five at the time and no matter how much his sisters and I insisted, he was still sure that he was right and that the Madonna was really called the Belgian Mary.

I remember getting into a very long discussion in which I tried to explain what a Belgian was. And then another one where I tried to tell him, without going into too much detail, what a virgin was.

I realised that I had failed when he looked at me and said: “Does that mean you’re a virgin mummy?”

That was about two years ago, and when I asked him about the Belgian Mary this morning it was clear he still doesn’t know what the joke is.

Today he asked me if a virgin is a type of religion.

The problem is that he’s now as confused about religion as he is about sex and, what with me talking about virgins and Jesus’ mum in the same sentence, he has now truly mixed the whole thing up.

The religion thing got confused when he was set a piece of homework where he had to ask friends and neighbours about their jobs, and what religion they are.

Unfortunately that weekend we had an odd assortment of visitors, and none of them could answer in black and white terms — or in any way that made any sense at all to an eight-year-old — about their religious beliefs.

I do feel very, very sorry for the poor child living in our nuthouse.