No-one wants the job but someone has to be the Grinch of Hogmanay - Susan Morrison

Judith Ralston rocks that stern headmistress specs and tight skirt combo

I am willing to bet the organisers watched the BBC Scotland weather reports as carefully as my husband does.

He takes a keen interest in the post-Reporting Scotland weather round up, particularly when it's Judith Ralston.

I suspect he has a bit of a thing for the vamp of the isobars and cold fronts, and I mean that in a totally complimentary way. That woman rocks that stern headmistress specs and tight skirt combo.

It can't have been an easy decision to make. No-one wants to be the Grinch of Hogmanay.

It seemed Scotland was stalked by the spirit of a Scottish icon, Sergeant Fraser from Dad’s Army, wailing "We’re all doomed! Well, yer fireworks are at any rate”.

At least they made the decision with time to get the word out. They left it to the day itself in 2003, and in 2006 they didn’t shut it down until an hour before the Bells.

This year they just couldn’t get the build completed for the events, and believe me, that firework display is more than just a couple of sparklers and a roman candle.

The castle was left to sit brooding in the dark, which, oddly, I quite like.

Well, perhaps it was for the best. I'm not that sure I’m into big explosions any more. It looks like the battlements are under attack from particularly flamboyant aliens, noisy ones at that.

Perhaps the organisers could think about the fun you can have with synchronised drones. Very clever those things are, and they also have the advantage of not scaring half of Edinburgh’s four-legged friends into fits or worse.

Visitors to the city seemed resigned to the change, even though the weather had, of course, dealt her usual hand. It seemed a great deal milder than feared.

Yes, it was breezy, but the occasional gusts were pretty savage. I fear that had the multicoloured barrage gone up there was a strong chance that Edinburgh could have accidentally declared war on Fife by launching a salvo of coordinated colour-changing rockets across the Forth, and no-one wants that.

At the tram stop on Picardy Place, there were people inviting other folks to pubs down the Walk, or suggesting going up to Calton Hill to see if there were, and I quote ‘wee bams letting off fireworks in Musselburgh’.

A group of youngsters were gathered in the shelter of Eduardo Paolozzi’s muckle great foot sculpture, next to the huge hand. The one with the big cricket on it.

No idea why, but if Eddy wants a giant bug, then who am I to disagree, and it also makes a good windbreak.

They had a little speaker, a phone playing some party tunes and a wee bevvy. Being Scottish I naturally apologised about the cancelled official party and they just laughed and said they were from a country that had typhoons, so they were used to things being called off because of the weather. And anyway, it was still a lovely city, and all the people they had met were brilliant.

I wished them, as I wish you and yours, a wonderful 2025.