​So when is it too late to wish everyone a Happy New Year? - Susan Morrison

​It’s not too late to wish you all a A Happy New Year, is it? A young Australian tourist asked me when the cut-off date is for the hugging, smooching and happy-new-year.

40,000 people attended the Street Party with live entertainment from Kinnaris Quintet and Elephant Sessions on the Waverley Stage (pictured), pop-tastic Silent Disco from Silent Adventures, and street performances from Spark!, pipers, drummers, and more.

​Good question. The riotous bear-hug followed by a smacker on the lips and a banshee screamed ‘HAPPY NEW YEAR’ is acceptable when the last peel of the midnight bells are still echoing from Arthur’s Seat, but the further away from the fireworks, the tamer the greeting.

Returning to work on Januaries past, usually on the 3rd or 4th, the day would start with a very polite handshake for the gents and or a swift modest embrace for the ladies.

By January 10, we usually drop the whole thing, and the kissing usually goes by about January 2.

Edinburgh seemed full of the world’s young people. The streets were jammed with folk in their 20s bouncing from pub to pub like inebriated ping-pong balls. Telling you now, some of them never ever saw eleven o clock, never mind midnight.

They did seem to enjoy themselves, particularly the young Americans I encountered on Great Junction Street on Hogmanay.

What on earth were tourists doing down here? On the tram, as it happened. They were so thrilled by them that they had decided to ‘see where it took them’. And now they were a bit lost.

Well, I said, as long as you can see the castle, you’ll find your way back. They looked at me like they had just been given sage advice from a character in one of those interminable Tolkien sagas.

I suppose it did sound a lot more romantic than that satnav voice on your phone telling you to turn left at the next junction.

They admitted they had been slightly worried when they realised they were in Leith, since the ‘guy in the hostel’ told them it was rough down on The Shore.

I assume the said bloke is from Mildest England, and easily alarmed, I said. It's been a long time since I have seen bother down by the Customs House and any I have seen recently has been caused by people kicking off because they can’t get into Martin Wishart's terribly posh restaurant.

Leith’s not a place to be scared of, I said, blithely, we don’t go in for that sort of thing anymore.

At that very moment a gentleman leaning on the opposite bus stop roared at no-one in particular “Ah’m no drunk. Ah huvnae pished masel.’

My lost children went saucer-eyed, but I was pretty sure they hadn’t understood a word. It's an old traditional greeting, I said. Come this way and I’ll show you where to get the tram back.

Of course, that very night news was to break that turned Granton into Detroit. I would have found that harder to explain away.

My husband and I enjoyed our usual walk on New Year’s Day, or as we call it, “Drinking Irn Bru in Public Day”. Here and there wee huddles of now very quiet young folk from many lands were standing on street corners were learning the true purpose of Scotland's other national drink.

It was lovely to have them all here, those terribly excitable young people, but gosh isn’t it nice when they go home?

Ach well, here’s to a great 2024 for us all.