Living as I do so close to a pig producing operation, (see view from my garden) it was inevitable that I should at some stage get more hands on than just the occasional bout of feeding (when Jamie and Anna go on holiday) and the retrieval of the odd escaped porker.

I live looking out over Jamie and Anna Rankin’s Mickelfield Hall pig farm, a small free range operation that has 3  breeding sows (although they are looking for more) and supplies their own restaurant, gastro pub, a couple of other local restaurants and number of other lucky consumers who have got to hear about them on the grapevine.

With deep snow and beautiful sunshine, today seemed the perfect opportunity to spend the day learning how to dismember a pig.

Whilst not quite a Galician Slaughter Festival, the idea of taking part in the process of turning a living animal into meat felt like a sort of obligation to the animals I spend a great deal of time eating. Knowing that the life that they have led was as natural and contented as possible, having actually watched them from my kitchen window, it seemed like the natural conclusion to see the other parts of the process that led them to my plate.

It’s not actually that scary an object, the carcass hasn’t been hung so there are no mouldy bits to cut away and the blood has been drained, but if you were at all squeamish, the heads would probably do the job.

Nigel was my guide, a freelance butcher, coincidentally exactly the average age for a butcher in the UK (57, sorry Nigel). Nigel clearly enjoyed what he was doing and was also well hard, as he didn’t seem to feel the cold and when he cut himself, strapped it up with gaffer tape. He also told me that he spent quite a lot of time despatching all sorts of animals, being a qualified slaughter man and deerstalker and obviously took some pride in the ability to finish an animal quickly and humanely – a talent that is probably not as recognised as it should be.

The carcass was dealt with in three main parts, the leg/haunch, the loin and middle section and the shoulder and it actually all seemed relatively simple to watch him at work. Only the kidneys were left in these animals (some of which I had for lunch fried up and with pasta and last night’s tomato sauce), but of course, what looked simple was a lot more tricky to do yourself.

Dealing with boning out a shoulder, the first job is skinning it, making 2 incisions across the skin and then slicing it away. Fortunately, the destination of these shoulders was to be in sausages so I could afford to make a cosmetic hash of this with relative impunity. And I did.

Then, the business of taking out the bones, the job I had always been most impressed with when watching a butcher at work, starts with the sternum, cutting it away from the meat and under the ribs. Then to the shoulder blade, you find the shoulder joint and then cut diagonally across to reveal the blade, cutting around it and under to release it from the meat. Finally you target the shoulder bone, again cutting around and under it until it comes away.

It’s remarkably forgiving, but don’t get me wrong, someone with Nigel’s experience will do a beautiful job of this: he would turn out a greater variety of cuts and would minimise waste and deliver it in perfect condition. But when supermarkets are selling meat processed by semi-skilled factory operatives and sold by inexpert staff in butchers costumes, then with a little practice, I felt that I might be able to make a good enough job of this to meet my needs should I get the freezer space and decide to buy a whole or half animal.

This obviously wouldn’t be for everyone, but it left me with a better understanding of and heightened respect for the animal, and a certain primeval glow of pride at carrying home a big chunk of meat to the family.