I have a pig. Just the one, 'the Empress'; other than that she doesn't have a name - well 'Queenie' sometimes, 'Peeeg' occasionally, or 'Missus' maybe, but it's definitely best not to give them names, makes it harder to eat them when the time comes. Mind you, that time came and went a while ago and there's little chance of it happening now. She's a pet pig. I got her from Adam Henson who runs the Cotswold Farm Park, a showcase farming paradise a few miles away. I wasn't really looking for a pig at the time, but these were irresistible: Gloucester Old Spots, probably the only friends a celebrity can trust. I said I'd take two before I knew how much they were: forty quid apiece. 'Just feed them twice a day and let them run around, they'll be fine,' said Adam. It's true. They're easy to look after, contented creatures. Sheep tend to be a bit frightened of the world, but pigs seem rather pleased with it. They always have something to say for themselves and they like being tickled on the tummy.

I found the presence of the pigs life-affirming. I stood a bit taller and felt more of a person, somehow, after they arrived. They are surprisingly noble creatures, incredibly dainty on their feet, which resemble Manolo Blahnik heels; and they don't scoff, they nibble. There's something very satisfying about the way they eat leftovers. Instead of thinking, 'Oh, no all this bread is going to waste', I'd think, 'Wow, the pigs are going to love this'. They grew at an alarming rate. Within weeks they were too heavy to lift. No other animal turns leftovers into meat as quickly or efficiently as a pig.

One of the pair died of the measles a few months ago. Claire cried. The kids were inconsolable. Funnily enough, the Empress seems to be in better spirits now than ever. You're not meant to keep pigs on their own, as they get lonely, but she must have been the beta pig. Now she struts around like she owns the place and the chickens keep her company.

Although we'd all probably be more likely to turn our pigs into pets than pork chops, British pig farmers are about the best in the world, a point that most people miss. Agriculture has never translated well into television. Whenever we do see a farmer on telly, he is in tears for one reason or another. Maybe he is exterminating his herd because of foot and mouth or bluetongue or bird flu. It creates a bad impression, but in Britain we have higher welfare standards than almost everywhere else in the world, particularly for pigs. And pork pies and sausage rolls are clearly superior to air-dried hams and salamis - they're just a phase. Good British bacon is better than almost anything else. It is better than German cars.

The rising price of grain means our farmers can't compete on price with low-welfare imported pig meat that would be illegal to produce here, and 95 per cent of British pig farmers are considering packing it in. By next year the scarcity of bacon, sausages, ham and pork will mean that prices will rise and we'll end up paying about what we pay now for higher-welfare pig meat for a pig that has been grown in a box. We're trying to get it right and we're being sunk by the 2p sausage. As a nation we try to economise on food, but it's the most affordable luxury there is. Food labelling is confusing, but with pork it's straightforward. Buy organic if you can, otherwise look for the Quality Standard Mark. That means it's been produced in accordance with British farming practice, not in a box.