Ruby Grimshaw plans Christmas Day 2011

What has my big mouth let me in for now? I blame it on the mulled wine, but the promise – which I’m going to regret for the rest of the year – won’t go away…

My approach to Christmas had been progressing quite normally. I had dutifully trotted along to a production of The Nutcracker at the Duke of York’s (this delightful ballet has become as traditional as a carol service). It was beautifully danced by the Bolshoi, beamed in live from Moscow, but I found the choreography not as warm or cosy as the one I saw in London a few years ago. There was too much snowy waste and not enough warm fireside for me, but that might have been a reaction to the awful weather.

I also attended a magical performance of Handel’s Messiah at Brighton Dome.?As always, it uplifted me and reminded me that the festive holiday is not just about presents and eating.

Then, on Christmas Day, Daughter C asked if I wanted to go and watch the daring people who were taking to the sea at 11am. Some of her friends were joining the members of the Brighton Swimming Club – who have a dip in the sea every day! As a spectator sport it sounded great fun. We joined several hundred onlookers and cheered and whistled as around 100 people clambered over the stones to enter the sea to the east of Brighton Pier. Afterwards, I was congratulating the father of one of C’s friends. We were knocking back paper cups of champagne and mulled wine and he proudly told me how old he was.

“Oh, only a few years younger than me, then,” I replied.

I looked at the sun sparkling on the calm sea and the Father Christmas Lifesavers waving at us as they sped niftily up and down on their surfboards. Around me people laughed and patted each other on the back. It all seemed so attractive. I wanted to be part of it. “I’m sure I could do that next year.”

No sooner were the words out of my mouth than a photo was taken to formalise my intention.
Daughter C was not impressed. “I suppose that means I’ll have to as well.” She glared at me. “Do you realise the water is four degrees?!”

But it’s not the cold that is terrifying me. It’s the thought of everyone staring at the state of my stringy arms and scraggy legs.