Nothing remarkable about that, although like many sons and daughters of immigrants the visit contained a degree of introspection and what ifs – what if my parents had made their home in the northern hemisphere instead of following their life’s journey to Indonesia, New Zealand and, eventually, Australia.

What would my life have been like growing up in those cold northern climes, instead of the Australian sunshine?

And what would I have been eating? One of our first calls was to my uncle and aunt who lived in the seaside resort town of Scheveningen, near The Hague. They thought we should experience the local delicacies, so took us to their favourite salt herring stand. So far so good.

However, before we left they had taken a package of meat out of the freezer to thaw. By the time we got home it was obvious what we would be eating tonight – pigs’ tongues (albeit in a white wine sauce).

Now I had eaten ox tongue many times, and enjoyed it. But it had always been sliced and served as a cold cut. I had never had a cute little pig’s tongue sitting in the middle of my dinner plate.

Of course, we had to eat it, and I am sure my wife wondered what kind of family she’d married in to.

When we visited Scotland we naturally had to try the Scots’ national dish – haggis. For those of you who don’t know, it is sheep’s heart, liver and lungs minced with onion, suet, oatmeal, spices and salt, and simmered for three hours in a bag traditionally made from the animal’s stomach.

Sound delicious, doesn’t it!

I’ve had some other interesting dishes over the years, from sheep’s testicles in a posh hotel in Belgium to Bolivian potatoes that are submerged in bags in cold mountain streams for months, until they turn black.

Which brings me to the topic of this column – tripe. No, not what you’ve just been reading. I’m talking about the white, honeycombed lining of an animal’s stomach.