And did those sheep in ancient times?

You may possibly wonder what bagpipes, fog, and a man being pursued by sheep (some of them wearing cute hats) have in common. Have faith: All will be revealed. If, like me, you have increasingly crap eyesight, double-click on the pic to cop the cute hats . . .

Now pay attention 007, because this is where it gets serious, thought-provoking, socially-relevant, and even interesting. Your new French word for today is transhumance. No, I didn't know what it meant either. It means the annual migration of livestock to summer pastures and is living proof that French sometimes also has a single word to describe a whole sentence of English rather than, as is usually the case, the other way round.

Each year farmers in the French Pyrenees lead their cattle, sheep and horses up into mountain pastures at 2000 metres where there will be ample grazing and water, far above the parched lower valleys. Actually they go up in June and come back in October so this is completely the wrong time of year to be recalling this age-old custom. But I only just received the pix from photographic correspondent and occasional partner in crime Martin Castellan, so you're getting them in August . . . tough.

The said custom had died out but it's been revived these last few years as a fun event to liven up the scene for visitors and locals alike. Everyone is encouraged to take part so my choice of photo is a bit of a con. I rather liked the image of the dour old gent in the Vicdessos valley being moodily and atmospherically stalked by hundreds of Tarasconnais ewes. Actually there are loads of other people and animals cunningly concealed in the mist.

Of course the migrations both here and elsewhere in the mountains are an ideal excuse for a good piss-up afterwards. There was a great party in the village of Biert in the Couserans, hence the ubiquitous accordion and the cornemuse, which is of a type of pipes peculiar to the region. Lovely evocative word cornemuse, though the instrument itself still sounds like bloody bagpipes . . .