I'm going on holiday to my home city of Edinburgh by mistake
I’m ready to put my out-of-office on
I had a lot of exciting holiday dreams this year.
It’s sad that not many of them actually happened. As always, I’ve found myself shoring up days in an Ebenezer Scrooge fashion. Saving them for a sunny day.
I hoped that I’d eventually have a windfall and be solvent enough to book a trip to Tokyo, Florence or Porto, or any of the other vibrant places that are on my wish list.
Then, this November, as the remains of 2026 started vanishing faster than a buttered ferret up a trouser leg, I had to admit defeat. I wasn’t going anywhere, but I still had about two weeks left to take. If you don’t use them, you lose them.
Thus, I am having an enforced winter doing nothing week-and-a-bit holiday in my own city. By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. Nowhere.
It’s a big Withnail and I mistake, except at least they ended up in the Lake District.
This is the worst time of year to be off work, too. I could’ve used these days in the summer, picnicking and playing croquet. Now, I’m stuck in the limbo season, after the mellow autumn period and while we’re trying not to spend any money before the Christmas splurging frenzy. The leaves have gone slushy and I’m wearing my depressing puffer coat.
I was discussing my impending time off with a friend.
You know, when you tell someone you’re coming up to a week’s holiday, and they immediately ask WHERE you’re going, as if it’s obligatory to be organised and have an actual plan, and you want to lie and say something exotic like ‘shopping in New York’ or ‘base jumping in Barbados’.
“Just pootering,“ I said.
“Oh, they’re the best sort of holidays,” he replied.
I think he was humouring me. He did add that, when he’s not working and not going anywhere, he has to use an app that signs him out from social media, emails and other stuff.
Otherwise, he’d just be tinkering around on his phone. I might download that.
As well as doomscrolling, I’m also quite bad at compulsively checking work emails, while I’m supposed to be on holiday. My OOO stands for Only Off Ostensibly.
That’s despite the fact that there will usually be something in my inbox that will trigger a hot sweat. I can’t help looking. Maybe I’m addicted to the adrenaline?
As distractions, I definitely want to make a few plans. There is nothing worse than that sense of holiday ennui, when you think that you’d probably rather be working because you’re so bored.
I shall have to use my imagination.
Sometimes my editor takes time off work so she can clear and tidy out her cupboards, because she finds it soothing. However, even though there’s plenty of mess and disarray at mi casa, I’m not in the market for any cleaning and tidying, I do want to actually relax.
Strangely, the thing I most look forward to is my alarm not going off, even though I wake up at exactly the same time every day without it.
That thrill aside, I’m sure there will be films to see. I like to take a giant sandwich and sit in the darkness.
However, a recent listings browse just threw up a load of one-star humdingers, like horror film Clayface, Verity and the surreal romance Wicker, which reminds me of the time I had a fling with a garden trug. So, the cinema is ruled out.
I might attempt to be a tourist in my own city.
Now that I’ve moved to Leith, there are other areas of Edinburgh that I’ve neglected as they seem too far away.
For example, I never really find myself in the Morningside or Bruntsfield side of town, so maybe I’ll get the bus up there.
The perfect itinerary might include a spot of lunch at my favourite cafe Margot, a sandwich at Toscano, or an ice-cream at that new gelato place, Ciccetta’s. I can do a recce of the charity shops.
I’d also like to pay homage to my beloved Dunbar’s Close Gardens on the Royal Mile, and have a Santu coffee on one of the stone benches while admiring the parterre. Perhaps I’ll go to the Palace of Holyroodhouse to ogle at Rizzio’s blood.
It’s also been a long time since I walked along the Water of Leith to say howdy to the heron on the weir, and visit the Modern One and Modern Two galleries.
I want to see the Ron Mueck five-metre long sculpture of a newborn, A Girl, at Modern One, and then the Gwen John exhibition at Modern Two. I’d punctuate that with a ginger and oat slice in the cafe, though I worry that they don’t make them anymore. I could even get some Christmas gifts and a 2027 calendar in the shops. No. TOO soon.
And then there’s a bit of graveyard-bothering with John Bellany’s headstone in Dean Cemetery, and the usual stand off with one of their weirdly rabid squirrels.
Then, perhaps I’ll head along to the Palm Houses. I haven’t booked myself in to have a look at those restored Victorian wonders, at the Royal Botanic Gardens.
There are other ideas.
In fact, I am starting to convince myself that this holiday is a good thing.
Maybe my friend wasn’t being sarcastic, and pootering breaks really are the very best sort.
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