Beforehand, I always imagine that it will be something like a James Ravilious photograph, slow‑moving cattle backs swinging along narrow-hedged lanes. In reality, it is more pacey and pressurised than that, and there is a great sense of collective triumph (and a well-earned pint in the pub) when they are all secured in their compound. It marks a turning point in the year, the final stretch of autumn leading very definitely to winter.