Whenever school holidays loom, I try to brazen things out by announcing that we have "nothing planned" and that "children should make their own fun like my generation did, with a bag of marbles and a bit of old stick". Then, on the first morning of the holiday, there's an almighty bicker-fest and I end up yelling, "Right! If this is how it's going to be, I'm off to my workroom for two weeks. Goodbye!" I'll swoop off and slam my workroom door, which is completely ineffective because no-one actually believes that I'm seriously planning to spend a fortnight trapped in a grubby little hovel which is heaped with all the random clutter no-one wants in their rooms.

What usually happens then is that, fearing two weeks of fighting, I launch into a frenetic itinerary crammed with child-pleasing delights. This time, after the usual spat, I decide to lift the mood with an open-top bus tour of Edinburgh. Whenever we see these buses, my poor, deprived daughter always complains that she has never been on one, so she is super-keen. My sons are lukewarm, probably because I have sold it as a guided tour. To 12-year-olds, "guided" means some adult droning on about 17th-century churches for decades while your parents hiss at you to listen. We have been trapped on numerous guided tours of museums and castles. It usually starts so well, with everyone eagerly clustered around, and ends with us trying to figure out how we can possibly escape without offending the guide, short of feigning illness or death.

Luckily, our guide today is recorded and accessed via headphones on the bus. There's a Horrible Histories option, which ticks my sons' boxes: they love history, and I'm convinced that Terry Deary, author of the Horrible Histories series, is partly responsible. "You could always count on a good crowd for a hanging," he says cheerfully as we trundle through the Grassmarket. I'd worried about the kids nagging to get off, but even toddlers are sitting nicely, taking in the delights of the Old Town on a gloriously sunny afternoon. In fact, doing something so overtly touristy - in such a passive way - is incredibly soothing. It's far more relaxing than marching everyone around the city, with them braying for stop-offs at Chocolate Soup and complaining about leg-ache. Plus, you forget that even 12-year-olds are pretty thrilled to ride on the top deck of an open bus.

Of course, we are allowed to get off whenever we want, and board another bus when we're ready. We hop off at Edinburgh Castle. Although we've been before, we have somehow never managed to visit the prison. Shutting each other up in the cells keeps the little blighters happy for half an hour or so. In fact, we could probably "accidentally" lock them in and pop off to the pub for a quick snifter, but that would hardly be in the holiday spirit.

In keeping with our touristy theme, daughter spends over an hour choosing a teddy bear clad in a Scotland T-shirt in the castle gift shop. Just as I think that our visit has passed without incident, one of my sons is reprimanded for trying to insert his entire body into Mons Meg.

Our tickets also include admission to Holyrood Palace and Royal Yacht Britannia but we're all good on the bus. In fact, when the tour finishes on Waverley Bridge, the kids beg to go round again. "Has everyone enjoyed it?" I ask.

"Yeah!"

"What was the best part?"

"My ted," daughter says, holding her gift.

"Being able to spy into people's flats," cackles my son.