Terminal trials make me all the happier to be beside the fireside - Susan Morrison

Apparently 60,000 New Year first footers are expected. Well, thank goodness they are arriving into a welcoming, efficiently-run arrivals hall.

Sorry, I’ve been overdosing on Quality Street. The sugar has led me to make some ridiculous statements, one of which you’ve just read.

I’ve had the misfortune to find myself lurking at the airport late at night to collect Mamma from her jetsetting holidays and I can honestly say I’ve been in more welcoming bus shelters.

The last time I was there, the arrivals hall had the smack of a 1970’s Soviet airfield, all grubby floors and loose wiring coming down from the ceiling. I kept myself amused by pretending to be at Checkpoint Charlie on a spy-swap mission.

It’s possible I wasn’t seeing it at its best, since it was being refurbished, which seems to be an ongoing project.

Many years ago, I had a friend who was notoriously poor at basic housekeeping tasks. She had a set of ladders and a paint pot out on permanent display in the hallway.

When people raised their eyebrows at the drifts of stoor crossing the carpet, she’d breezily blame the guddle on her ‘doing a bit of DIY’. I have wondered, now and then, if the airport is operating on the same principle.

Still, at least our visitors know they are arriving in Edinburgh. A nice quote about the city welcomed them by someone called ‘Andrew Carneggie’. Not entirely sure who that is, but I have heard of Andrew Carnegie, with one ‘g’. Obviously, that was a bit of a typo.

Slightly worrying in an environment where attention to detail is paramount. Drop a digit on a flight number and suddenly you’d have 95 seriously unhappy passengers finding themselves en route to Birmingham instead of Benidorm.

The man with the clicker has counted 64,000 of us fleeing the country for sunnier climes. This must create a bit of a bonanza for the airport's parking fee piggy bank.

Believe me, I’m only too aware of the gold farm on the tarmac fields surrounding the terminal. I just shelled out £7 for the privilege using the ‘pick up and drop off’, or as I like to call it now, ‘stop and fleece’.

My son and I thought we’d operated like a Formula One pit stop team to load the case, strap in our visitor and get M8 bound, but we were beaten by the clock and they smacked us a quid a minute over the allotted 10 mins.

Willing to bet that inch for inch, a parking spot at Edinburgh Airport is worth more than a five bedroom mansion in Ravelston.

Nice balance of incoming and outgoing numbers there. Have the council started some sort of one-in-one-out policy?

Well, no-one told me. How do I apply for my chance to jet off next year for a sun soaked Hogmanay?

Nah, not for me. Call me old-fashioned, but the only heat I ever want to enjoy when the bells ring out is at my own fireside. But each to their own and I hope you and yours all had a wonderful time when the year turned.

A guid New Year tae ane an aa!