Piggy on the red carpet

The legislation was a nightmare and the only way I could get my pigs, we were taking three, into France and back out again, without a 30 day standstill was to register my farm as a circus and myself as a trainer of performing animals.

I knew I had to begin with three identical piglets who could double (or treble) for each other on set, where we knew that the job would be very demanding and the weather extremely hot. As luck would have it my Kunekune sow gave birth to a litter of seven, three of which were plain ginger, all with two piris. Someone up there was on my side.

I began a training programme of five minutes a day when the piglets were only three days old. By the age of two weeks, all the piglets were wearing clothes, travelling happily in a wheelbarrow and could be nursed like babies without any complaints at all.

As they grew more independent I was able to separate each piglet from the litter for his training each day, as on set, they would need to work alone.

August 16 loomed closer. Lists were drawn up, timetables were strictly adhered to and training intensified as the tricky bits needed to be polished up for our final performance.

We set off at 6am in glorious weather. We had Defra vehicle approval on our car and travelling crates - almost unheard of but for once the defra officials saw the sense in not demanding that we transport piglets through France in August in an aluminium trailer.

Huge amounts of vet bed, as well as pig nuts, suitcases, water containers and poo bags filled every spare corner in the car.

We took regular stops on our journey through France - 16 hours in all - for the piglets to have a toilet break, a snack and a drink and a refreshed crate for the next leg of the journey. I was travelling with my 12-year-old daughter Lucy who is a truly hands on sort of girl, and to be fair, I must give her credit for a good deal of the training too.

I owe her for keeping my chin up when times got tough like the first night in France when it was getting towards midnight by the time we spotted a hotel with a car park close enough for me to keep my eye on the car overnight.

We had been up since 5am. By the time we reached Cannes two days after leaving home, it was 102 degrees and we were mighty grateful for the air con and the sun blinds.

The pigs' accommodation, although small, was perfect in that it was completely shaded by fruit trees so they were on a permanent diet of figs and oranges. We had brought our own wallow so for them it was a sort of holiday by the pool really.The first five days were spent adjusting the piggies to the climate and to the different locations for filming.

There were scenes in busy streets with motorbikes roaring by, scenes in cramped rooms with huge lights and cameras everywhere and lovely night time scenes where all was still and quiet, except for the steady whine of man eating mosquitoes.

Even the little piggies' pink bits got eaten by mosquitoes, and cameramen and film directors are not sympathetic to a piglet who needs to scratch his little bum on the pavement in the middle of a scene.

There were highs and lows with the filming itself. The highlights I remember the most were pig three sitting alone in a dark street, after midnight obeying my stay command, pig one bouncing down a pavement in a very small 1950s pushchair, into which I never imagined she would even fit and pig two sitting patiently outside a mosque, waiting for prayers to end.

Wearing a superman outfit became a daily occurrence for all three pigs as one would have to take over from the other when the first got bored with take after take of the same scene.

No matter how 'right' you think you've got it, there is always someone in the background with the wrong expression on his face, or someone in the next street shouts ‘oy’, or a jet flies over.

Some of the lows would be pig three lying almost comatose for the first three days with the incredible heat, pig two refusing point blank to enter the dining room for take 12 as she had already been chased out of it by mother 11 times before, and pig one pooing on ‘father’, who was a very long suffering Jewish man trying hard to hide his revulsion at having to cuddle up to a pig.

The whole thing took place in Cannes within a stone's throw of the Palais du Festival and it was a wonderful experience I will never forget.

However, that said, give me green fields, open space and silence any day - I'm not cut out for Hollywood.

As for the pigs - well, pig one or Teak as she is now known, and pig two, now Cookie, have gone on to lovely homes to become breeding pigs. And pig three? Well, this little piggy stayed at home. Yes, he's living with me and apart from a job with the BBC for animals at Work, and covering his first gilt last week, he's now looking forward to the possibility of representing his siblings at a film premiere next year. We've kept the harness and the superman outfit, just in case.