Unreal City

'Unreal City/Under the brown fog of a winter dawn...'

Despite living in Edinburgh for the past eight years of my life, I've never really got used to it. It's like no other city in Britain. When you stand on Princes Street and look out across the gardens to the Old Town, the strange, tall buildings seem to hover behind the trees like a stage backdrop. The castle also seems unreal, but more sturdy: like an impressively large prop made from papier maché, cardboard, sticky back plastic and paint.

In the morning, commuters seem resolutely determined to ignore the sights on display. They hurry along Princes Street, their heads held low. In the summer, it is estimated that the population of Edinburgh almost doubles. In my experience, I would say that it triples. The cash machines run out of money, getting to work takes twice the time (as the bus is repeatedly flagged down like a taxi by deeply tanned, bemused tourists waving £20 notes) and the supermarkets fail to cope with demand, leading to shortages of staple goods such as bread, milk and most importantly, decent houmous.

In the face of such an invasion, even a welcome one, the genuine inhabitants of Edinburgh feel a basic and natural urge to mark themselves out. They fail to acknowledge even the most noticable landmarks and monuments, they most certainly don’t carry a camera around and they also tend to avoid any shop that sells tartan, shortbread, or tartan-patterned tins of shortbread. Even celebrities get short shrift during the festival. Since moving to Edinburgh I’ve ignored the following people: Jimmy Carr (he was buying fish and chips, I gave him a blank look), David Baddiel (he passed me as I was walking along George Street) and several others, mainly stand up comedians. They may be famous, but during the festival they’re just tourists: getting in the way, filling the streets, eating all the houmous. It’s just not on.

So yes, Edinburgh is very strange. It’s hard to just get on with day to day life when you feel like an extra on a very large film set. So instead, we all focus on the mundane: gazing out of the top deck of a bus not at the castle but at HMV. Avoiding the Royal Mile and heading to Poundstretchers on North Bridge instead. Maybe we should stop ignoring where we live, and start embracing it. I’ve decided to spend a day as a tourist this weekend. I’m going to ride an open top bus, visit the castle for the first time and buy questionable shortbread from a stall on the Royal Mile. Wish me luck.