‘It’s just a bit surreal,’ mourner Georgia Matthews, 26, tells me as she waits on The Mall for a glimpse of the Queen’s funeral procession.
There certainly is a strange atmosphere among the thousands who have turned out early on a Monday morning to witness a piece of history.
At times, it feels like being at a music festival – as people chat with strangers, endure portable toilets and burst into jokey applause when a security guard dashes into the road to catch a plastic bag that has disrespectfully blown on to the procession route.
There are further guffaws when a street sweeper brushes clean the grand avenue – followed almost immediately by a police horse which relieves itself.
But as the morning wears on – and the reality sinks in that they will soon say their final farewells to Her Majesty – the mood among the crowd in central London grows a lot more sombre.
Chatting to some of them, I find there is a strange mix of muted excitement at being present on such a momentous occasion, combined with real upset at the Queen’s death and even fear about what it all means for the future.
At the front of The Mall, people queue to access a small viewing area opposite Buckingham Palace, which won’t open until after 8am.
First in line is bleary-eyed American Melinda McCarthy, who has waited an entire day after turning up to secure her spot at 9am on Sunday – days after she spent 14-and-a-half hours in the lying-in-state queue.
The 56-year-old, of Cape Cod in Massachusetts, says: ‘For me, it’s a pilgrimage, and a part of history. I had to be here.’
Nadia Rigden, 45, has been queuing since 11am the day before with her family, from Whitstable in Kent.
‘My grandfather was in the Household Cavalry and he attended the Queen’s wedding, he rode in the parade,’ she proudly tells me. ‘So we feel a connection to her and really wanted to pay our respects.’
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Londoners Joe Stutter and his companion Ms Matthews can’t believe their luck as they are ushered to a prime viewing spot. ‘We’ve only been here ten minutes,’ Mr Stutter, 26, tells me.
At 11am the Queen’s funeral begins just down the road in Westminster Abbey. But due to the crowds no one can get phone reception to watch it, so instead we settle for a radio broadcast, which officials helpfully decided to play over speakers.
But the hymns are suddenly interrupted by booming drums – as a seemingly endless procession of King’s Guard soldiers emerges from a side street, and march in perfect formation towards us.
It emerges they are there to guard the procession, and the men get busy shuffling into place while their commander shouts directions such as ‘stop shifting left, Phil’.
They get sorted in time for the two minutes’ silence – impeccably observed – before we hear the distant sound of the procession.
Chatter stops and a mass of phones appear as the stream of men and women trudges by.
And then, every head in the crowd turns as one – when the Queen’s coffin comes into view – and then slowly glides past on a sea of military uniforms.
King Charles, his siblings and his sons can only just be spotted amid the fellow marchers.
But there is no missing Prince George in the car behind, as he bounces excitedly on his seat but then bows his head, as if mirroring the mixed emotions of the crowd.
Then, before you had time to even properly process it, they had all melted away into the distance.
Ms Rigden’s daughter Lydia, 17, astutely tells me: ‘It was amazing but at the same time really sad.’
Lynda Musgrove, 71, of Hertfordshire, and daughter Zoe Harriss, 49, of Essex, are also emotional.
‘When the coffin went past I was very choked up,’ says Ms Musgrove. ‘The Queen was such a constant in our lives and I do worry about the future. She gave a sense of safety and security, and now she’s gone.’
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