Thousands of people turned out to pay their respects as the Queen’s coffin was driven from Balmoral to Edinburgh this afternoon.

Among the crowds gathered in the Scottish capital was our political editor Paul Francis. This is what he saw...

Anyone visiting Edinburgh's famous Princess Street today would not have thought that this was a city in grief at the death of the monarch.

The hustle and bustle of shoppers laden down with big bags of goods, street-sellers, buskers and tourists all crowded the payments. To all intents and purposes it looked like and felt like an ordinary Sunday. But of course it wasn't.

This was a city, this weekend, of two sides. On Saturday, thousands of students enrolled on their new courses at the university, swelling the numbers in pubs, clubs, restaurants and bars.

Hotels were crammed with tourists at the end of the season.

But you didn't have to look far for clues that this was no ordinary weekend. A taxi driver remarked that he had never seen so many police in the city, part joking, part serious.

It was true, and Edinburgh could not have been more secure. Barriers were erected alongside side streets, and alleyways where normally short cuts would be made were closed.

Anyone who dared to try would get a sharp word from an attendant policeman.

At noon the mood was sombre for the official proclamation of a new monarch. There was something strangely re-assuring about this event, really no more than a piece of civic dignitary.

There was a fine serenade of trumpeteers to add to the colour the event, and afterwards a rousing rendition of the national anthem followed by three cheers for the new king. It was all strangely uplifting.

Then as the afternoon went on the crowds swelled even more. Those with foresight and wanting to get a bird's eye view had queued early. I hadn't and got nowhere near the Palace of Holyroodhouse where the cortège was due to end its journey from Balmoral.

Still no one seemed to mind. The mood was light-hearted again, almost as if we were waiting for a Tour de France cavalcade to come through, or a summer parade.

We waited and waited a bit more. Rumours circulated around the ground about the arrival. 'It was imminent', someone said, 'it'll be here in a few minutes' another said.

None of it was true. Except eventually it was, and we saw little more than a small group of blacked-out vehicles sweep around the corner and into the Holyroodhouse grounds.

There was a smattering of applause, as there always is at these events. No one shouted 'God save the King', no one showered the cars with flowers, they couldn't get near enough anyway, but we all felt united in a way which is sometimes rare.