I took my niece to the leafy Edinburgh Heriot-Watt campus and it was a revelation

The big day arrived too quickly

“I can’t believe we’re at this stage already,” my sister-in-law said.

The seven of us were crammed into my eldest niece’s new room in the halls at Heriot-Watt. I guess this is how birds feel, when the fledgling is suddenly twice their parent’s size and ready to recklessly fling itself off a twig and into the world. What happened to my lovely smooth little egg?

They’d all been staying over at our house, in anticipation of the big day.

All the grown-ups in the moving party were projecting our own emotions about becoming students onto the day. We kept asking the niece how she was feeling, though I don’t think there was any need to worry. In contrast, we all had a difficult time starting our respective colleges and universities. I had to get the GP to prescribe me a Diazepam for my first day, I was a blithering wreck. And, that’s despite the fact that I stayed with my parents all through my studying days, so I don’t know how I’d feel if I was moving hours away from my childhood home, from the countryside to the city.

However, the eldest niece is SO ready. She’s excited about Edinburgh life, and she’s already made about four new friends online. She has the social skills, so this will be a cinch.

We don’t need to keep asking her if she’s okay.

At first, we’re worried that she’s packed too much for her new home. The lift is broken, so there are about five trips up and down the stairs, and around three heavy fire doors to navigate.

We brush past other freshers, with their family entourages. We later discover that some parents are swiftly dispatched, but we’re allowed to stay for ages, so feel very honoured. Maybe we’re not as embarrassing as we thought.

I try to ‘help’, by unpacking the box of noodles, snacks and rice that my niece has brought, after we’ve bagged some space in the small kitchen that’s shared between six rooms, but she quickly rearranges my efforts. She’s not as slapdash as me. There is a plan. I back off.

Anyway, I’m proud that she’s commandeered a prime comestibles slot, right by the cooker. There is no microwave or toaster in here, which is weird, but there is an airfryer.

There’s also a bracket so she can put a padlock on her cupboard door. That’s one thing she didn’t bring. Should we get one, or will a few threatening Post-It notes do? I worry about her delicious-looking snacks, though maybe it’s best to trust the new roomies, until a drunken night proves us wrong.

We decide to let her take charge of unpacking, as she has a firm vision, and we take the two younger kids to look for a place that serves coffee and cakes.

I’ve never been to this campus before. It’s vast and I’m wowed. This is like a village. There’s a space-age sports centre called Oriam, and various cafes and bars, not to mention the library and all the boring academic stuff. I love the beautiful trees, like weeping willows, conifers and oaks, which are throwbacks to this historic site's life as Riccarton Estate.

If I was here, I’d probably never leave.

We pass other new students, some of whom are international, and are wheeling huge suitcases and looking like lost lambs. Others are pretending that they’re worldly, but I see the bum fluff.

I overhear a pair who are discussing their rooms, and the difference between the two styles that had been on offer. Apparently, Contemporary is the fancier option, though my niece has gone for the cheaper Traditional, since they didn’t think there was much difference when they did the tour. We wonder if those in the pricier accommodation are getting a Champagne reception, and Egyptian cotton sheets.

After 30 minutes of free-roaming, we stumbled on a cafe that was serving free ice-cream to students. FREE ICE-CREAM. It turns out to be £1 for non-students, but that is still the deal of the century.

By the time we return to the halls, things have changed. My niece has transformed her tiny room, with an en-suite and a desk, into something rather lovely.

The bed is covered in plump cushions and a cosy fuzzy throw, her books are neatly lined up on the shelves, and there are prints propped against the white-washed stone wall.

Her shower room has a colourful bath mat on the floor, and the packet-fresh shower curtain is hanging in situ. There are clothes in the small wardrobe. The small space has easily absorbed two car’s worth of boxes and bags. I have second-hand excitement at how brilliant it is to have a space of one’s own.

When we leave, there are tears, from her sisters and parents.

“I’ll miss you,” replies her seven-year-old sibling.

“I’ll miss you too,” says my niece, though she doesn’t crumble. She’s stoic and smiling, as she enters the next phase.

As the auntie and uncle in Edinburgh, we remain on standby, should she need a refuge, or a proper meal that doesn’t involve instant noodles.

However, we haven’t heard a peep. On the evening of the move, her mum got a message to say that, on night one, she’d blown off an invite to go to student favourite The Three Sisters in the Cowgate. Instead, she’d made another new pal, and they’d spent the night watching Friends and eating Taco Bell.

I think she’s absolutely ready to fledge.