If I thought the barrage of email tips I received before my recent trip to Birmingham was impressive, that was but a drop in the ocean compared to the deluge of advice I sat sifting through on my way up to Edinburgh. Whether it was Karen's suggestion that I visit a memorial to a loyal dog who hung around his master's grave for fourteen years (that'll be Greyfriars Bobby), or Stuart's invitation to visit a gothic bar with its loo hidden in a bookcase (Jekyll and Hyde on Hanover Street), it's clear that Scotland's capital continues to inspire visitors from every corner of the UK.
Perhaps Edinburgh's greatest appeal lies in its seductive mix of modernity and heritage. The iconic Arthur's Seat isn't showing its age too badly for a 350 million year-old rock formation, and Prince's Gardens look so much more beautiful now they've drained the water used to duck 'witches' back when the park's steep banks held a loch. More contemporary historians might be more interested in the college where Sean Connery used to disrobe for budding artists, or the calorific ordeal favoured by hundreds of backpackers every year – the deep fried Mars Bar. Three words of advice: Don't. Do. It. Unless of course your idea of haute cuisine is chugging down molten caramel wrapped in what feels like a crispy tissue. Which tastes of fish fat.
Speaking of chocolate, it's worth exploring the lesser-known reaches of the Royal Mile if you really want to experience confectionary fit for a monarch. The delightful Plaisir du Chocolat looks and feels like an authentic Parisian chocolate house, complete with delightful décor and a chocolate counter bursting with more colour than most art galleries.
Judging from the throngs of folk in breeches touting for visitors further up Edinburgh's most famous thoroughfare, the city's trade in ghosts and ghoulies is still booming. Of all the tours on offer,
The Real Mary King's Close is probably as close as you'll get to an authentically macabre experience, making use of an atmospheric network of underground alleys, or 'closes', to tell the spooky stories of those who once lived there.
Predictably enough, as soon as I arrived at Edinburgh's renowned Camera Obscura, a thick bank of mist descended like a hot-air balloon loaded with sumo wrestlers. For the uninitiated, the camera's apparatus consists of a combination of lenses and mirrors which allows you to see miles across town in a full circle - think of it as an eighteenth century answer to CCTV. Nonetheless, the other galleries in the building contain a wealth of appealing light-related exhibits, including the stunning Infinity Corridor and a host of hologram galleries (beware the human-sized tarantula…). Oh, and don't forget to call in on the gift shop on your way out to pick up the mysteriously titled 'Mind-altering Goldfish'; somehow it's weirder than it sounds.
Having pounded an awful lot of street (no surprises that the Royal Mile is ten per cent longer than a standard English mile), I was glad to rest my weary feet in Henderson's restaurant. Susie A emailed in to recommend this veggie paradise, complete with its '60s hippy décor' and 'weirdly carved pine'. The daily changing menu has something to appeal to all tastes, and its emphasis on organic and biodynamic food shows how meticulously all the ingredients are sourced – if you find yourself prone to pangs of eco-guilt, here is a place you can eat with confidence.
As any self-respecting holidaymaker will tell you, the only way to follow an early night is with a late morning. Having slept like a concussed bag of cement (in a good way), I woke on Saturday morning to find that my chances of finding anywhere still serving breakfast were slim to none. The only reasonable alternative seemed to be an early lunch, so I headed out of town towards Valvona and Crolla. This Italian deli-cum-restaurant boasts a hoard of discerning fans, from Clarissa Dickson-Wright to Tom Parker-Bowles – not to mention Our Man readers Helen and Hugh. I have to confess, though, that I was rather more impressed by the deli side of the operation than the restaurant. With floor-to-ceiling shelves of exotic jars, an eclectic cheese counter and a bread display to make a grown man weep with joy, the deli is a foodie's dream come true. Lunch in the restaurant, however, was ever so slightly underwhelming. My serving of tiger prawns was pricey and slightly undercooked, while the accompanying green beans were just the wrong side of limp. It may have been a bad day for the kitchen staff, but it's worth checking out the looks on other diners' faces before asking for a table – or just filling your boots at the deli counter.
With food in my belly and adventure in my heart, I decided to take on Arthur's Seat. Despite sounding faintly pornographic, it's quite possible to spend a wholesome afternoon scaling the heights of Edinburgh's most famous geographical feature. This hill has been shaped over millions of years, and, according to myth, gained its name after King Arthur saw his armies defeated by the Picts from its heady peak. Nowadays its summit overlooks the stunning Holyrood Palace and Park, as well as offering a panoramic view of the city's landmarks. Even with a stomach full of the finest mozzarella and prosciutto, a climb to the top won't take much longer than twenty minutes.
Locals will tell you that the weather can change pretty quickly on Edinburgh's most famous hillside. So, if the sun pops behind a cloud during your descent, why not make for the extraordinary new Scottish Parliament to warm your cockles on the hot air blowing around the debating chambers? Business usually goes on from Tuesday to Thursday, but weekend visitors should nevertheless pop by to check out how Enric Miralles' controversial architectural vision merges into the parkland around it. Some love it, some hate it, but you could never say this £431 million of building hasn't raised local interest in politics (and how much it costs…) Thanks to Dave C for the email pointer.
Despite recent wranglings over their Parliament building, the Scots have always been famously frugal folk. This being so, it seemed fitting to round off my afternoon with a trip to the Museum on the Mound – a new attraction at the Bank of Scotland HQ. Exhibits include a computer programme enabling you to make out a Georgian life assurance document, as well as a stack of twenty pound notes adding up to a cool million. Perhaps this would have been enough for Miralles to pay off the Holyrood painters and decorators – if only the notes weren't all cancelled…
When the Queen finally had the Yacht Britannia taken off her hands and moored up in Leith, she might have restored her failing spirits with a bite to eat in the inestimable Domenico's restaurant, a few hundred yards from the waterfront. Plenty of eateries live on their reputation alone, but no superlative can do justice to this exquisite family-run place. Domenico's turns out langoustine big enough to eat you if you don't tuck into them first, huge tender steaks and the only servings of pasta I've ever found big enough to push dessert out of my gluttonous reach.
Try the masterful seafood linguine and you'll never look at a clam in the same way again. Domenico's regulars Phil and Sandra also point out that – if you're lucky enough to have access to your own stove – it would be criminal not to drop into Eddie's Seafood Market in Marchmont. Marvel at the giant whelks and succulent monkfish tails on show to see why Edinburgh's restaurants are renowned for their fishy delights.
I trundled back into the centre of town with a post-dinner glow and a hankering for a quiet nightcap. Little did I realise, however, that I was about to be 'kidnapped' (their word, not mine) by Emma, Gemma, Rachel and Tessa – four visitors to Edinburgh who were apparently prepared to ransom innocent passersby in exchange for a memorable night out. Weak-willed as I am, it took about thirty seconds of persuasion before I decided to join them on a tour of the local nightspots, starting with Dragonfly at 52 West Port. Back in ye olden days, Edinburgh used to be known as 'Auld Reekie' because of the smoke billowing from the city's chimney stacks. Now that the Scots' smoking ban is in place, the city's bars couldn't be further from the smog-smothered city of yesteryear. With its airy balcony – a good vantage point to watch revellers below – and a bar lined with limited edition trainers, Dragonfly proved to be 'So kitsch it's cool' according to Emma, whetting our collective appetite for further revelry. Sure enough, I soon found myself forced at beer-point into a black cab hurtling in the direction of the City Nightclub. Contrary to the promises of the door staff, however, the club's music policy was about as varied as a bread sandwich (think house meets hard house. Hurrah). Fortunately the club's side bar had employed a DJ with a much stronger track record of playing student unions and weddings. Before we knew where we were, a barrage of Reef and Candi Statton had sparked a five-way dance-off, fuelled by a mutual respect for tank tops and arrhythmic air-drum solos. As the clock struck three, and the Bon Jovi started to run dry, I realised that the time was probably right to leave my jovial captors to enjoy the rest of their time in Edinburgh. There was just enough time as I danced my way to safety to launch into one final chorus of '(I've Had) The Time of My Life'. How fitting.
