There is a moment on the last Friday of every month, somewhere around half past eight, when the room at Nectar changes. It is subtle at first. More people coming through the door than a normal Friday would bring at that hour. Tables that were having a quiet dinner start wrapping things up a little earlier than they otherwise might. And in the corner, DJ Leo is setting up. For the first hour, you would barely notice anything different. The music is quiet, the volume sits under

There is a version of Edinburgh that exists in photographs and travel guides. The castle silhouetted against a brooding sky. The Royal Mile in full tourist flow. Arthur's Seat at sunrise. These things are real and they are genuinely worth experiencing. But the Edinburgh that the people who live here love is something slightly different: the city that appears in June when the days get long, in July when the terraces fill up and the light stays until nearly eleven at night, and

Every August, Edinburgh becomes a different city. The population roughly doubles. Every spare room in a ten-mile radius is rented out to a comedian, a theatre troupe, or a solo performer who has been working on their show for two years and is quietly terrified. The Royal Mile turns into a parade of flyering, shouting, singing and general theatrical desperation. Cowgate stays open until four in the morning. And scattered across every church hall, basement, converted car park a

Edinburgh has a weekend reputation that is entirely justified. The city fills up on Friday and Saturday with visitors, locals out for special occasions, and the kind of energy that makes it one of the best nights out in the UK. Everyone knows about that version of Edinburgh. What fewer people talk about is how good this city can be on a Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday evening. Quieter, more personal, easier to get a table, and often significantly better value. The venues that