By Mara Dougall

In the year that saw us on the receiving end of public uproar and even official condemnation from our central European pals, it may seem rather inappropriate to begin enthusing over the unassuming charm of the festive natured, whisky swilling, and, dare I say it, scrotum revealing Scots.  But enthuse I will.  

So you may be aware of the fact that we’re fond of the drink, but this insistence on apparently aimless merry-making, that makes us feel so at home in the grog republic, is entirely surpassed by the sheer euphoria surrounding Hogmanay - that’s New Year to the rest of you.  Despite the suggestiveness of its title there are no actual hogs involved in Hogmanay and no one seems to be able to offer a definitive explanation of its semantics.  Hogmanay.net offers a brief outline of possibilities:  “Opinions differ as to whether it originated from the Gaelic oge maidne ("New Morning")…hoguinané…derived from the Old French ("gift at New Year")… the French au gui mener ("lead to the mistletoe") or a Flemish combo hoog ("high" or "great"), min ("love" or "affection") and dag ("day"). Take your pick.” These examinations however fail to convey the general debauchery and genuine affection which characterises Hogmanay.

Traditionally drinking commences at ‘the bells’ (midnight) and continues until mid-March.  However, these days, few make it past dinnertime without whetting their whistle.  People like to congregate to ‘take in the bells’; in pubs or homes however they inevitably head outside for an eyeful of pyrotechnics and to feel the full audio assault of the various explosions, fog horns, car horns, canon fire, etc.
 
At ‘the bells,’ people stop and concentrate together on that one moment of time, the absolute present which almost seems to slow with our heightened awareness of it.  This moment is gorgeous.  

Most people are familiar with Edinburgh’s self-appointed status as host to ‘the world’s greatest New Year celebrations’.  In the streets of the capital, gale force winds permitting, people from around the world come together to vie for a slice of gorgeousness with total strangers.

Scots, however, tend to stay away from the capital knowing that the key to Hogmanay gold lies in the balance between the size and familiarity of your group.  Family comes first at ‘the bells’ and as far as kissing’s concerned, but that is by no means where it ends.  If Christmas is a family affair then Hogmanay is an ‘anyone you’ve ever known’ affair.  Coming from a small town devoid of much goings-on but populated by serious party maniacs and dear friends (these terms are by no means exclusive), I have always found it easy to achieve such a result.

New Years day itself will be occupied by the customary ceilidh.  A joyous, if slightly treacherous, event where we somehow manage to execute the traditional Scottish dances despite high levels of inebriation.  Such classics as ‘The Dashing White Sergeant’, ‘The Gay Gordons’ and ‘Strip the Willow’, which aren’t half as suggestive as they sound, are accompanied by the stalwart three-piece band - drums, fiddle and ‘the box’ (accordion).  New Year ceilidhs inevitably culminate in the internationally murdered ‘Auld Lang Syne.’

As far as Scottish songs go it is hardly the most melodic yet it has been known to bring a tear to a glass eye (especially when played on the bagpipes).  But where does this outrageous sentimentality stem from?  It’s the fruit of our roots and the whisky in our veins, but Hogmanay doesn’t always have to be a strictly inside affair.  This year I have friends joining me ready to be welcomed into the sweaty and dishevelled fold of Highland hospitality.  And for those who can’t make it, in the words of one Robert Burns…“Here’s a health to them that’s awa.’”

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