Festival madness time, but I wouldn’t be anywhere else - Fiona Duff

While the rest of Europe is thinking of beaches and Aperol spritzes, the residents of this city prepare for our annual transformation to being unpaid extras in someone else's holiday.

The sun, when it bothers to make an appearance is greeted like Taylor Swift last year.

One minute you are having to pay tourist prices for a saltire kagoule when getting caught in the rain on Princes Street, the next you're across the road getting sunburnt in the gardens. No-one gets used to Scottish summers.

Of course July and August bring the Festival and jugglers from around the globe, people thrusting flyers into your hand about a one-woman show based on Margaret Thatcher's relationship with her cat.

Some of them are brilliant and others … well it's hard to be negative when you're not the person brave enough to go on stage, but frankly you would have preferred to stick pins in your eyes for an hour.

For us who live here it's back to jay walking going up the Mound and perfecting our side street shortcuts, thereby dodging the camera toting visitors and people asking how to get to Arthur's Seat - it's that big hill with hundreds of people making their way to the top.

But it's often quite glorious, with long days, sitting in a friend's garden and watching a beautiful sunset while knocking back a glass of fizz. The smell of barbecues wafts around and you hope that they are cooking the sausages properly.

Someone once told me summer in Edinburgh is like a ceilidh - loud, sweaty, slightly disorientating and full of Americans asking what's in a haggis.

But would I trade it for a fortnight on a Spanish beach? Not on your Nellie. Apart from anything, why would anyone without children at school go away during the holidays when everything becomes so expensive?

Until then, make sure you have suncream and an umbrella in your bag, try to avoid the Royal Mile and just have fun.