Call me a nutter, but I’ll be Loony Dooking next New Year’s day - Susan Morrison

People take part in the Loony Dook New Year's Day dip in the Firth of Forth at South Queensferry, as part of Edinburgh's Hogmanay celebrations. Picture: Andrew Milligan/PA Wire

Most of the participants look young and lively. Bet they saw in the New Year in style in defiance of the weather gods who put a damper on the official fun.

One or two of the wave-jumpers may have been feeling a tad delicate. Trust me, two minutes in the Forth, followed by a can of Irn Bru and a roll and square sausage (brown sauce optional) (tomato sauce is not) (vegan alternatives are available, I am told) and that hangover will be so last year.

Trust me, I know how cold that water is, even in what we laughingly call summer.

Like a lot of aged dames, I have taken to the chilly waters more than once. Wild swimming seems to be a strange side-effect of the menopause.

Scotland’s coastal waters are now awash with hosts of ladies in sensible swimming costumes and woolly hats, like pods of cheery mermaids on HRT. Might have something to do with hot flushes.

This worries me slightly, since one of my friends generates heat so intense it’s practically a superpower. If she warms Scotland's waters then it might attract dangerous predators from balmier seas.

I can’t be the only one traumatised by the opening sequence of Jaws, and I certainly don’t want to see that off the beach at Porty.

One or two of those bright young Loony Dookers might ruefully announce they will never touch the sauce again. Drink, that is, not the brown or tomato stuff. It’ll be a resolution.

Away wi’ ye, I say. Life is not for giving things up, unless it’s the sort of thing you really shouldn’t be doing. Take the year and take twelve things you’ve always wanted to do and do them. Swim in the sea, call an old friend, read a book a month or visit a place you’ve always wanted to see.

Enjoy 2025, sauce and all.