IT WAS THE SIGN in the window that reeled me in. Driving home from work on Monday evening, I passed a chip shop that was proud to announce the arrival of crubeens to their menu. Then my mind started to jog.

Down through the years I have eaten almost every part of a pig that there is, within reason, but it's not until recently that I have heard about how crubeens make up an important part of some Irish people's diets. Well used to putting my own foot in my mouth, until that moment I had never contemplated doing the same with a pig's.

Suddenly the urge to investigate overwhelmed and I decided to give it a go. For all I knew, I could be missing out on some culinary sensation that might even rival the recent discovery in Japan of the 'fifth taste'.

I made my way into the chipper and ordered a pair of finest pig's feet from the lady behind the counter. Then I stood back and watched, while she made them sizzle.

As the de-toenailed treat was reaching boiling point, an elderly gentleman entered the takeaway and ordered another two for himself.

Intrigue worked its magic on a customer who had already placed her order and she shouted out the door to her husband who was waiting in the car, telling him that there were crubeens for sale if he fancied some. 'What are they,' he asked. 'Pig's feet,' she replied. And I felt a little rumble in the pit of my stomach.

They were cooked and wrapped within minutes and I scurried home with them. The good woman eyed the brown paper bag with delight when I got in the door, until I told her what was in it. 'Eat them in the other room,' she ordered and I knew by the tone not to mess around.

In the sanctuary of the kitchen I unwrapped them and lay them out on the table. More interested in their appearance, than how they actually might taste.

As it turned out nothing could have prepared me for such a ghastly sight.

Crubeens are without doubt the most vile looking, jelly-meated, devil's hoof-resembling cuisine you could have had the misfortune to lay your eyes upon. These flabby little dishes on a bone didn't even merit touching, let alone eating and digesting. I quickly re-wrapped them, marched them across the room and dumped them in the bin. Where they still sit as I type, wondering about vegetarians and how their disgust with us carnivores might well be justified after all.

SELLING POINT

What's the best advertisment you have seen on television this year? Perhaps it's the Evian ad with the stunt-babies whizzing about on their roller blades. Or any of the copius commercials for beer or stout that are oh-so-cleverly done. As if they really needed to bother.

I heard an ad on the radio recently where a man asks another guy how long he has been wearing women's underwear. In reply, his friend says that it is ever since his wife had come across a pair in the glove compartment of his car. Good gag.

The only thing is, while the ad gave me a laugh, I have no idea what it was actually for.

CURIOUS CASE OF GEORGE

SO GEORGE LEE gets it in the neck for packing his political bags and waving goodbye to the circus. Whatever his reasons for departing, it is a free world and the man is entitled to live his life as he sees fit.

However, more attention should be paid to his words, that he had little or no influence when it came to progressing a country that has been mis-ruled for so long.

This then suggests that there are other politicians sitting on fat pay packets who are just as ineffective as the former RTE economist was, but are content to while down the hours, until their time in a supposed position of power peters out.

Meanwhile, Gay Byrne has allegedly got a problem with our Taoiseach sitting on a bar stool supping pints. Yet his predecessor was applauded for it. Personally I wouldn't care less if the Taoiseach sat on a street corner drinking wine from a wellie in his free time, as long as he got the job done right.

- SHEA tomkins