Happy New Year to the world.

 Happy New Year to the world.

My lovely family and I were minutes away from the beginning of a New Year. We were gearing ourselves up for the start of another year and the quarter of a century point had almost been reached. Our resident singer Steve Knight was belting out all of those grand, old classics and standards from yesteryear. The hotel was crackling with high spirits, laughter, happiness, bonhomie, mutual love and a fair sprinkling of optimistic folk who were grateful to be together again on this most auspicious occasion. 

The setting was the Daish Hotel in Blackpool and the weather was quintessentially British. We are now in the depths of winter and therefore you had to be prepared. In recent winters, a heartening mildness has made its presence felt over the skies of Britain. Of course we've had the usual assortment of breezy winds, gusty gales at times, rain in abundance but none of those freezing temperatures which normally accompany the beginning of January. 

Today though, we all woke up to a shivering coldness in the air, the kind of weather that would normally compel most of us to dig out as many layers of vests, thermal vests and pullovers that simply empty our wardrobes and chests of drawers. Some of us are sniffing and sniffling, sneezing and coughing as if it were going out of fashion. This January, somebody turned off the central heating and forgot to turn it back it on at the appropriate time. 

Yesterday, our wonderful son Sam, daughter in law Lucy and beautiful grandson Arthur, my wife Bev and I, dog Barney, took the calculated risk and went for a walk all the way from our hotel and up to the Golden Mile in Blackpool. It was supposed to be a pleasant and invigorating walk and it was to a large degree. But then we were buffeted and battered by icy winds and sleet that made the simple act of stepping out almost impossible. Still, we did negotiate the elements without being swept out into the North Sea and there was a giant sigh of relief when we got back to our hotel. 

But then we did our utmost to coax our delightful grandson Arthur on to some of the mini fairground rides that were open for business only to find that he wasn't that interested. We arrived at the amusement arcades with their traditional noisy cacophony of one arm bandits that bleeped, rang and tinkled, before resorting to some of the most enchanting jingles. There were action adventure machines and Formula 1 cars dressed up in animated, graphic form on a computer screen. There were those 2p coin contraptions where hundreds of coins slide backwards and forwards before either dropping off the edge or nudging thousands of others into your hands. 

Back at the hotel the less adventurous were more than content to play cards, board games, read papers and magazines or just take their leisure. On the table next to the guests were bowls of fruit with mouth watering chocolates and in a far corner of the lounge, tea, coffee and biscuit facilities that are somehow synonymous with snug hotels that just want to pander to the whims of those who prefer the simple things in life. My wife and I played Scrabble on one morning but did nothing more strenuous than admire the festive scenery. There was the colourful Christmas tree by the fireplace, tiny light bulbs draped across mantelpieces, Santas and reindeers and sleds wherever you looked. 

The lingering images we were left with were those of the Irish Sea literally next to our hotel. Now it was that this seaside resort left us with the most unforgettable impression. The seas in Northern England were at their wildest and heaviest, crashing, heaving, boiling, foaming white, erupting with passion and genuine anger. At times you almost felt you were witnessing one of those naval battles where the old warships would knock seven bells out of each other with cannon balls and gunfire. 

Meanwhile, back at the Daish Hotel we were readying themselves for the daily itinerary of afternoon bingo and general knowledge quizzes with a dartboard at the centrepiece of the entertainment room. A vast majority of the guests at the hotel were elderly but energetic, full of the joys of spring and good, old fashioned hospitality. A lovely lady by the name of Irene kept us entertained with bubbly good humour and a permanent smile on her face.

The quality of food and catering was impeccable, the staff welcoming and friendly, always willing to go the extra mile just to keep us in the best of moods. Sometimes bed and breakfast hotels in Britain at this time of the year can be both bleak and dreary places. Very little in the way of the tourist trade is functioning and the only sound you'll probably hear is that of shuffling paper at tables scattered around the reception area as local businessmen and women open and shut their suitcases with a business like diligence. 

Then there are the frequent stag and hen parties before joyful weddings and jovial pensioners thoroughly enjoying their retirement. Now is the quietest time of the year for the hotel trade, a time of deserted beach fronts and none of the jollity and levity to be heard so resonantly during the summer. Summer is when the seaside comes alive, families with children spinning around on those giant tea caps, soaring into the air and then dropping thrillingly towards the ground. The fairground is Blackpool's financial salvation, roller coasters and candy floss in one glorious childhood dream come true. 

But we would never forget the New Year's Eve party in Blackpool for many a year, a green glitter ball dancing in time with the rhythms of those who were doing the conga at midnight. Now we discovered the real meaning of a New Year, as the chimes of Big Ben ushered in 2025. Our friends from both sides of the Pennines joined in with the fun with unashamed energy, Lancashire and Yorkshire united for once although maybe they do this on a frequent basis. Now two large coaches awaited the departure of our charming veterans, memories of Auld Lang Syne and crossed hands still clinging onto the tinsel and glitter. Happy and Healthy New Year everybody.