An early morning stroll through the countryside, down a winding lane, had the Metal Pig lead the young Hang Seng to within sight of the local abattoir. Chops were heard all round. But the gods had other ideas and up it rose to a late summer high that all roosters would crow over. The winter saw the return of metal piggy clouds, but the index gritted its hen's teeth and pressed on to finish on a higher perch than it began.

The Water Pig had our Rooster dancing along on clumsy trotters for the first four months. The index fell a little through the spring before climbing to a modest high in the summer. Then some unwelcome winds huffed and puffed, and a very braising autumn witnessed a complete turn of events; by early October the index was in the mud. A shoulder up saw the year finish back at the summer high.

Pigs might not fly, but our Rooster did a very good impersonation, and the index rose slowly but relentlessly. With a hock up, it gained half of its value - who said you can't put lipstick on a pig? We'd be telling porkies if we said this wasn't a classic belly-scratch of a time. The Wood Pig beat the drums all year and was presented with the key to Rooster City.

In a pigsty-type beginning for investors, our Fire Pig forgot to light the barbecue. More than that, it wallowed in the muddy depths until September, at which time it found a rich truffle patch and put on around 60% in weight by early November. Then, in a truly ham-fisted performance, it bled like a stuck pig before finishing slightly above where it began. A knife-in-the-ribs year if ever there was one.