The eagle-eyed viewer will have noticed that I failed to swim at all in November. We’re a good 30 miles from the coast and the chances of a dip in the sea are therefore somewhat limited in winter if our free weekends don’t coincide with calm weather.

Serves me right for boldly stating I was going to swim every month.

However, a trip to the Scottish Highlands for Hogmanay gave me an unexpected opportunity to save face and neatly cross off two calendar months in two consecutive days. I’ll admit I was slightly sceptical about the likelihood of swimming in a loch in the middle of winter as I threw my swimming costume into my suitcase, my mind’s eye conjuring up images of cutting through a layer of ice.

We were staying with a large group of friends, none of them cold water swimmers as far as I knew, on the shore of Loch Carron, not far from the Skye bridge. It didn’t take long before talk turned to swimming. The conversation was a mixture of bravado, gentle goading and genuine curiosity about the health benefits. It helped that the water was enticingly clear, the scenery pretty perfect and the weather, for Scotland in winter, remarkably mild. One of the group had read an article quoting Alexandra Heminsley, author of Leap In: a Woman, Some Waves and the Will to Swim, as saying that cold water swimming is like ‘a hangover in reverse’: pain for moments, followed by a prolonged, wholesome buzz. (This is exactly why I do it, in case you were curious.) The consensus among the others was that they should put this theory to the test. Plus it was New Year: a chance to wash away the old and all that jazz.

And so it was on New Year’s Eve morning that an assorted array of adults and children in swimming costumes and the requisite bobble hats inched their way down the slipway and into the chilly waters of the loch, discarding puffa jackets at the very last second. There were shouts and shrieks and a variety of different techniques for entering the water. I tend to favour a steady, purposeful progression; diving is too brutal and not advised in cold water, while tiptoeing just prolongs the agony. I have no idea how cold it was – certainly not as cold as Glen Brittle on Skye in May (my temperature comparator for all outdoor swims) – but cold enough for the friendly owner of the house nextdoor to call us “f_____ crazy” as we watched the village fireworks over the loch later that evening.

The following morning, on New Year’s Day, an even bigger group of us went into the water to see if the ‘reverse hangover’ effect could neutralise an actual hangover. I’m pretty certain it did, although perhaps we were just displacing one pain with another …

Either way, two swims in two days spanning two different months and two different years. And some new wild swimming converts to boot. I’m happy with that.

Need to know

Accommodation: We stayed at the wonderfully located Stationmaster’s Lodge in Stromeferry, a warm and sociable house that absorbs big groups brilliantly.

Wild swimming advice: There’s no shortage of publications and articles about wild swimming but I particularly like The Outdoor Swimming Society website for its balanced mix of inspiration, encouragement, stories and safety advice. Plus their Instagram feed is the business.