When Beatrix Potter named one of her heroes ‘Pigling Bland’ I think she got it slightly wrong. There’s nothing bland about piggy - boiled hams and parsley sauce, liver and bacon, plump sausages, steaming faggots, shiny pies and irresistible crisp and fatty rinds to fork from the plates of fussy eaters. No, the pig is a generous beast and one of my favourite animals, whether taken to table or observed from the gate post.
When the clocks go back it is regularly pig o’clock, good days often start with black pudding and eggs, later followed by regular afternoon visits to the fridge for another go at the jamón. Evening trips to the pub never seem fully rounded without a packet of scratchings.
