It may not be the only reason I became vegetarian, but lodged somewhere in the back of my memory is the image of a smooth spongy material spread on a well-done piece of buttered toast. It was truly offal – though I see from brief search on the internet such delicacies are not entirely confined to the past.

My memory has stopped short of storing the flavour of it, but I do remember eating brains on toast when I was a kid in the 60’s. I also remember pig’s trotters, brawn, kidneys, fish roes and liver - evidence enough that we didn’t have a lot of money, and that we used every possible bit of the animals that were killed to feed us.

Perhaps we were less fussy then, but I remember fighting with my two brothers at every meal to finish whatever was put in front of us. Seconds! Thirds! Whoever wolfed down the first helpings would get their hands on the next. Oxtail stew, sheep’s hearts anyone? I think our mother drew the line at tripe and black pudding (we lived in London after all), but she put her mind to the best presentation of the least palatable stuff available at the local butchers.

There was plenty of it, and it was cheaper. Of course we had beef stew on rarer days, but there was cod, haddock, sprats, and a plentiful supply of cheese, bread and digestive biscuits. Then, every Sunday, a roast with all the trimmings. At Christmas, the (gravy) boat was pushed out with pork, beef, and of course turkey. But during the year no-one turned their noses up at less glamorous fare. Nor, as my memory assures me, slimy grey sheep’s brains boiled first, then fried in butter, liberated from their membranous sheath and thickly spread on toast.