Our man joins the New Year dippies.........

I nonchalantly agree to take part in the annual St Michael's Hospice fundraiser. 'Ho'That sounds a good idea,' I think, as w bad can it be?'

That was a balmy Indian summer afternoon in September, when winter seemed a million miles away.

But in recent weeks, as the nights have drawn in, temperatures plummeted and the sea swollen, the prospect has become distinctly less attractive - my initial bravado giving way to regret and dread.

Imagine my delight then, when I receive a message on the fateful morning telling me it's been called off due to rough seas and high winds. 'Drat,' I reply, doing my best to feign disappointment. 'Oh, well, c'est la vie, Mother Nature has spoken. It just wasn't meant to be I guess.'

'It's OK,' I'm told, 'it's been rescheduled for Sunday outside the Waterfront Club.'

Marvellous.

The day arrives and I'm dismayed to see there's no wind, the sun's shining and the sea's like a millpond. But it's cold, very cold!

I slope down to the Waterfront club to find my fellow masochists, of whom there are around 20, in disturbingly high spirits. Some are even dressed in Roman garb, and it occurs to me there's something distinctly gladiatorial about the whole affair.

A baying mass of around 200 has gathered to watch the undignified spectacle and I fear any minute now they're going to unleash the lions.

Suddenly we're being counted down from 10. Here goes. No turning back. Cometh the hour. We're off...

I realise I'm leading the charge as we hit the shoreline. Three big strides, then dive in head first.

As I emerge I'm distracted by what sounds like a pig being slaughtered. Then I realise it's me. The tingling in my limbs has turned to complete numbness and I'm alarmed when I attempt to breath and nothing happens.

I crawl ashore and, noticing my counterparts swaggering back to the clubhouse without a care in the world, realise I must make a bit of an effort to compose myself.

'All in a d-d-days work,' I stutter unconvincingly through chattering teeth to curious spectators. 'It's actually n-n-not that c-c-c-cold.'

'Same again next year,' I'm asked by a fellow dipper who seems ludicrously non-plussed by the cold.

'I'll have to check my diary," I reply. "But I think I'm painting my lawn.'

r organiser Jenny Tyrell says sponsorship money is still coming in and the sum will be bolstered by cash collected in buckets from the hundreds of spectators.

Those who took part were Malcolm Brookes, Ricky Hendrie, Dave Hill, Rob Hustwayte, Sophie Newell, Mark Powell, Ross Powell, Andy Roberts, Stuart Robertson, Ben Slater, Brian Talbot, Jenny Tyrell, Barry Wells, Lee Wilson, Kevin Watts and Tina Watts.

The hospice would like to thank all those who supported the event.

STORY BY ROB HUSTWAYTE