THE QUEUE

11am.

At the mouth of the queue in Southwark Park we are instructed by a man in a high vis to not stand single-file but instead fill up the space between the barriers. Nobody listens for a while. He keeps shouting. A colleague shouts at him from the other side of the queue to shout louder. He shouts that he can’t shout any louder. Someone is on the phone to their mum who is also in the queue but further down and she says at least it’s not raining but it is cold. She’s bought her waterproof just in case. I am not packed for the long haul. 

Flasks of tea squeak open. People have already started eating their sandwiches. They must have packed multiple. Fuck it - I am so underprepared. I call my mum to say I’m a bit confused about what I’m doing. She says to just carry on. I’m in it now. The man next to me says to his friend that he is hot. His friend responds it will be colder later. We are stones rolling slowly along the shallows. The tide is going out but who will have packed enough cheese rolls to withhold the suck of the sea? At this point I’m feeling pretty unsure. What trees are these? 

A man in a black waistcoat with hair slicked to one side is saying he has planted 23 orchards as of today for the Queen's Green Canopies. The target is to get to 57. The scheme was originally meant to end now but the king has decided to extend til March next year. It’s a good idea because then more people can plant trees and it’s the best way to celebrate. They stop speaking and I wonder whether they have noticed that I am writing what they are saying down on my phone. My lower back is already tight - fuck shit. The woman in front says it could be a good weight loss programme. The man responds by repeating that it’s hot but that it will definitely get colder later. 

I take a selfie. I keep sneezing which is embarrassing. Shit she’s got bare legs she will be cold. And there’s a woman in flip flops! I Internally blow kisses to my exe’s mum for gifting me this lightweight heat-tech UniQlo jacket. Orchard and his friend are being interviewed by a journalist who is wishing them luck. Once you get to Tower Bridge it’s about a 6 hour wait, he says.There is a clatter of pleasant chatter. Chirpy just like little birds. One woman is doing a crossword. A man is on the phone with his AirPods in. I’ve pushed past him and I bet he’s pissed. I’ll let you go Ian because I know you’ve got to go to a meeting. Do I need to hang on, Graham, or do you have a meeting to go to as well? Do they know he’s in the queue? I hear someone complain that the stewards can’t speak English. The man on the work call takes out his AirPods and squeezes back in front of me. It’s a battle! He explicitly glances at what I’m writing, I assume as a means to intimidate me. I pull back. 

12pm

If the queue is in levels then this is the park level. Like that motorbike game I used to play on PS1. The park level was always the worst level. Orchard, AirPods and It’s-Getting-Cold-Later are currently sharing some cashew nuts. That’s a good queue snack. A woman performs trying to find her sister ahead in the queue. AirPods practises doffing his imaginary hat to the queen. It’s actually such a beautiful day. The snake leads us under the canopy of a particularly huge chestnut tree and the leaves are a shuddering dome ceiling. I feel the fuzz on my earlobes and neck fluff up like a chicken.

AirPods has said he thought about bringing his rain jacket but that the coat he’s in would look better for the queen. I try not to look down at my denim jacket. He says he waited as a kid on the steps to see Charles and Diana get married. A great sense of community. He tells me about the people who queued on Wednesday for 60 hours in order to be in the first 10 to see the queen. That one wouldn’t sit so as to not crease his mourning suit. A woman in a high vis says it will be 20 hours and everyone goes a bit quiet. She says that once we get to Tower Bridge we will be given a wristband that will allow us to leave the queue. That we will need to form an alliance and take shifts to go to the toilet and get food. 

1pm

Everyone is anxious to get out of the park but AirPods predicts there are still ten bends in the snake ahead of us. My friend from work has messaged the group chat to say she went back to her exes last night. She says she feels stupid but that they both love each other so much. We all tell her she’s not stupid but that it’s time to put herself first. I tell them I’m in the queue to see the queen. They seem uncomfortable. One is trying to figure out whether I’m a royalist and asks if I’ve been crying. The woman in flip flops has slowed her pace. 

I hear someone a couple people down say that he can see the gate that exits the park! The sun has gone in for a moment. AirPods says that when the king died in 1952 everyone managed to do this without technology, so why can’t we? A couple with a pram stop to talk to some journalists and now are trying to squeeze back into their spot. The people in front are talking about the promise of a wrist band.

People down the queue are now screaming for help and it looks like someone has collapsed. Some stand on the base of the barriers to see. A policeman jumps over each barrier with difficulty and each time he lands successfully the crowd cheers. The queue has stopped. The stewards are in chaos. They keep jumping over the barriers and back again to attend to the person who has collapsed. We all are relinquished to the wait. There is no fear and no anxiety and no impatience. There is only queue. Orchard pulls out his work iPad but it’s not an iPad it’s a tiny laptop. He starts frowning at it and tapping at the keyboard with his index finger. I turn to lean on the barriers to escape. Just two more snake bends and then we’re out of the park!

2pm

Someone with a camera films us as we shuffle down the snake. Another steps out of the barriers to take a photo of the queue and then jumps back in and squeezes into her spot with urgency. A board in front of me says we have 14+ hours to go. Which would be a good thing in comparison to 20. I’m right in front of the gate now. Get me out of this tree-lined hell. AirPods and It’s-Getting-Cold-Later are talking about data. People cheer as they leave the park. Lying In State Queue please expect long delays thank you for your patience.

We’re finally out of the snake! And marching instead in a nice straight queue. This is how queues are supposed to be! Across Paradise Street past The Angel round the corner and onto the Thames. Cheesegrater. Gherkin. Me and AirPods. If he knew the park stage would be so long he wouldn’t have done it, he says. I work to not listen. Can I accept that I've wasted 3.5 hours on this? Am I willing to spend another 17 hours here? The wind pulls up from the Thames and rattles across me like a freight train. It’s freezing now. Orchard and his friend  tell AirPods that David Beckham joined the queue at 2am and is still waiting. He is in full suit and good for him. They have heard that Holly and Phillip cut in which isn’t right. 

Millpond Estate reminds me of that Chinese supermarket in Croydon. Orchard’s friend is trying to convince him to publish a tweet he has drafted. I suspect it’s a troll tweet. He says that people will support him. Orchard is worried about backlash. He edits the tweet and shows a man I hadn’t noticed before who says that actually he’s made it worse. A policeman cycles past and tells us to keep up the good work. The queue is grateful. 

I walk to the edge of Bermondsey Wall East. Oliver’s Wharf. John’s Warehouse. Somewhere below, out of sight, a boat is knocking against the side of the river wall. The gushing of water. The creak of a chain being pulled tight then slacked then pulled tight again. A guy with a parasol attached to a bike is selling cokes out of a cool box for £1.I want to ask if he’s got diet but the queue moves me on. My boss WhatsApps me to tell me that David Becckham queued from 2am and still hasn’t gotten in. We drop back off the Thames and between the cottage estates. At Fountain House a woman lets people use her toilet. The queue is grateful. She queued yesterday. She said we had 10 hours left which is incredible news.

***

5pm

I’m stood at the Thames and I’ve lost my crew There was a hubbub and we got separated but I had to crack on and now I can’t see them. A City Cruises boat turns around just before it hits Tower Bridge. Uber boat. Thames Link. Uber boat. The water reflects off the side of the bridge like a frantic dance. I’m feeling lost like the end of a long film. The queue is chaos. People could easily walk up towards the front but they don’t. They queue. I skip ahead a bit and then stop. A woman on the phone is trying to convince someone on the other end she’s in the queue. The bridge lifts to let an open-top tour boat slide through. Kids run around fist-pumping the stewards. A sailing barge with its blood red sails glides on. People rush out of the queue to take photos as the Bridge sets itself down again. 

In the films, Tower Bridge is a grey as hell ugly thing. Here the sun kisses it proper golden like a biscuit tin. Bridge, you gorgeous thing with people up and down you shimmer hard on the water and the City Cruises and we definitely could have cut into the queue at Tower Bridge. The man with the megaphone is making everyone hip hip hooray and I have no idea why. The tugboat goes past with no shipping containers on it. That can’t be the same one. This queue. This breeze. The mood is soft. People smile and sigh. Seven hours left, they say. How am I going to get home? They ask. Soft seagulls rocking on a rusty buoy. I guess I’ll need to cancel my evening plans. My mates WhatsApp me to try and snap me out of it but there’s no way I’m giving up now. One friend is going on a date with a guy she can’t figure out. My hands are frozen solid. An Uber boat glides under the bridge. 

In the queue. In the queue. In the queue. Queue you are an iced slab of marble and we are the fury tongues that stick to you, cheering for some reason. Good old queue. A woman FaceTimes a family member. We’re asked to say hello. Say hello to the queue! Hey dad with the grey beard. I hear her say to her gang that she couldn’t have done this without them. I miss my gang. That golden sun has hit and I wonder what AirPods is doing right now. I tell myself I’m David Blane and the queue is my glass box. 

6pm

I’ve asked the steward how long it will be and he said 8 hours minimum. My new crew is quiet. We plod next to each other and his iPad is hooked to a battery pack. There are a lot of rumours about this queue. About how long it will take. About the availability of tea. My new gang say to each other that when the cheesegrater was first built people didn’t like it but now it fits pretty well on the sky line. They’re taking photos. I do the same. The stewards shut the barrier just as we try to enter Hays Galleria. There are people drinking at the bar next to me and they ask if this is the end of the queue. Don’t be fucking silly mate. 

That bastard wind won’t stop scuttling up my neck. Wrap a jumper round my head and I’m here Queening it. Someone is whining like a fox and they let us through the barrier and we’re cheering! The stewards instruct us to walk behind the sculpture of a giant chimp. BEHIND THE CHIMP! The chimp’s mouth is open as if singing. My back - fuck sake. I’ve lost the quiet gang oh wait they’re there, one is on the phone. An odd fella has turned up. We’re just going past the cheesegrater! They say. They’re soothing these new guys. 

People are standing on the railings to get a better view of the queue. I should probably call my mate to tell him I’m not coming out tonight. The odd fella puts on a hat and yeah he’s a smart odd fella. The glass buildings are angular. My gaze is soft. There’s a spot to get a beer but what good would it do? I wonder how the flip flop woman is doing. Under the arches of a glossy marble building we enjoy the heat from an air vent. There’s that woman with the blue heels again, Christ. The tops of the Tower of London are needles through white sky. A tiny crown on a spike. The Mudlark pub and Southwark Cathedral. People do sit ups in a gym on the corner. 

One of the Soothers turns to me and asks if I’m alone. He says well done for putting in the effort. It was a last minute decision for him; he just knew he would regret it if he didn’t. Drove up from Oxfordshire. He asks where I’m from. Good for me he says I’m making a proper effort. I love my Soother gang. The cheesegrater lights up magenta. We stand under the cathedral clock and the time is wrong. 4 minutes past 12 but who gives a shit because the gold on the numbers look silky like Werther Originals. The cold is getting worse. The pinks and oranges shout IT’S GETTING DARK at us. 

We’re at The Golden Hinde but I’m focused on that Caffe Nero. I would love a cup of tea. I’m not losing the Soothers, though. People could have jumped this queue fucking hours ago. They respect the queue and if you respect the queue you respect the queen and one of the Soothers says it’s not right that people jumped in at Tower Bridge. Pickfords Wharf now and there’s Winchester Palace ruins all lit from below. You beautiful molar-toothed thing. And imagine all the Middle Ages dogs just scuzzying about right here with the queue. And these fairy lights outside the Clink have hoisted us into some sort of mediaeval, New York Christmas film. Soother is chatting to the odd fella now. The light is fading. A plane slides across the slice of sky up above the mills. I send a selfie of me with the queue to my dad. Try my luck at Pret but they’re closed. 

7pm

The Clink. The clinky Clink Clink. We’re under the railway bridge at the clinky Clink. Odd Fella is chatting about history and I’m craning to hear outside this Wagamama. The Anchor with its tiny red windows. Can’t feel my hands and my mates have stopped talking to me. Behind us the shaft of Canary Wharf can be glimpsed between Southwark Bridge and London Bridge and it is fiery fish scales against a mauve sky. People behind us are talking about the park level and can we let that go now? I jump into another Pret but the queue starts moving along faster and I’m gonna lose the Soothers! Hurry up with the milk. Fuck this is warm. Will Soother be wondering where I am? He hasn’t seemed to notice. Better that way. 

St. Paul’s you sexy bastard! Jazz pours out of the Swan bar and restaurant on New Globe Walk. A sign tied to a lamppost reads one bag, no food, no flowers, no padlocks and the woman behind is causing a scene that her bag is too big and it’s just full of empty bottles and she’ll have to chuck it out and if she can’t get in half this queue can’t get in. This tea feels good in my hands. The orange sky hangs low to swallow up the glow of the Victorian-look street lamps. A chirpy guy has bought the Soothers some chips and I’m realising I’m not actually a part of this new gang at all. The Thames has skulked into a dark, quiet blue. I imagine Shakespeare stressing with his dramaturges up in the theatre. There's a couple of actors with guns strapped to their backs waiting for the next scene. Lads stare down at the queue with pints. Odd Fella is speculating about the security levels at the abbey. 

There’s the Millennium Bridge and do you remember when it wobbled? Everyone is saying. Shit good times. Silhouettes of kids skidding their feet against the ridged surface of the bridge floor. Couples take selfies.A Spanish guitarist busks outside the Tate. This is a fucking great level right here! Serenade us @sebasteabdiezguitar! Walk the queue with us! Keep us in this liquid sleep as the Thames smacks up against the fluorescents of Blackfriars bridge. The man who bought the chips for Soother is passive aggressively screaming at a steward HIYA! HIYA YES THANK YOU WE ARE QUEING! The steward doesn’t know what to do.

8pm

I’m chatting to Odd Fella through the bright lights of a white-tiled tunnel. He says we’re going to be immortalised as mourners on national TV forever. I don’t know what to say. He says he met Madonna once, Paul McCartney, etc. I’m quite into Odd Fella. The woman from a German News team points to one of the Soothers and says THERE’S LOUIS! She learned Soothers’ real name before I did. How did that happen? Odd Fella says he had some sniff in the morning and it messed him up. That’s why he’s been quiet. He says that the queue should have had a QR system. 

Soother tells the interviewer that the hours he's walked are all worth it. He says that sadly we will likely be moved through the abbey very quickly but just to have that moment with the queen is enough. Whatever has been happening in the country the queen has always been a unified force and that’s why so many people have come. Soother has put on a very posh TV voice and it is soothing as hell. I walk ahead so I can turn to watch him being interviewed face-on. Kids dart around to try and get on camera. Two men canoe on a pitch black river. The purple of the lights. Trance music coming from Gourmet Pizza. St Paul’s beams like a fat-headed angel. Odd Fella is explicitly peering at my phone screen as I try to write. I pull my phone up towards my chest and he accuses me of hiding things from him. Can we take that again? The film crew asks Soother. Yes, I’ve got time. 

We trickle into the always-feels-like-Christmas of the Southbank. Odd Fella laughs there will be a meat grinder at the end to churn us up in. It’s quiet. A crepe would be nice. Burrito? Soother tells the TV crew that the monarchy has existed for 150 years which he finds incredibly reassuring. Churros would be good. There’s a party boat coming down the river. The buses propel over Waterloo Bridge majestic like a deep-sea squid. The ones that have light-up organs. A group of buskers are playing Let It Be Again and it’s awful. Fuck, not Imagine. And now the Soothers are buying their real gang gin and tonics. Fuck you Soother. Odd Fella is trying to convince me to let him carry my rucksack. And now they’re handing out lyrics for Too Good to be True and fuck, we’re hitting a low here. Suck me in, London Bridge. I’ll live in the purple here with you just swallow me up next to the BBQ Club and the skater kids doing ollies.

The steward shouts to the left and the queue mimics TO THE LEFT TO THE LEFT TO THE LEFT. A fox darts through the queue and across the road. Its tail is twisted up into a ball. Odd Fella has brought in a new member to our crew. She says we couldn’t have done it in the heat we had last month. I shout that we're in Westminster! We’re on the home straight, she says. Now we are a proper crew again! Soothers, Odd Fella, this new woman, and me! The new woman repeats that we’re on the home straight! We’re on the home straight. I say it over in my head. A Soother answers the phone and says Um, we’re just in the queue. The steward says 2 hours left. I turn to tell Home-Straight it will be a couple hours. Odd Fella is talking about security again. Outside Subway I change the conversation to my job in marketing. He’s concerned I’ve not eaten but I haven’t seen him eat either.

***

11 pm

The snaking queue in the Abbey Gardens slips around in quick movements. This snake is harder, sharper than the snake we were in at the start. My back is in pieces and Odd Fella lights a fag in the snake and it feels wrong. Soothers find us again. The ground is uneven and hard to manage in the dark. The speed of the snake makes everything feel chaotic. People lob around in their suits with their Tesco bags. Kids sleep under blankets in between the snake’s curves. I look up at a flood light and black shapes dance in my head. Odd Fella’s voice is climbing down my back. A man slips over the rubber flooring. People have stopped smiling. No one was anticipating the snake. The final snake to finish it off. 

The woman with bare legs is suddenly right behind me. She has a blanket wrapped around her and looks fucking freezing. Odd Fella jokes that this is the euthanasia queue. My back has done it but there’s no hell I’m letting Odd Fella take my rucksack. I lean into Home-Straight and she pretends not to notice. Soother has changed into smart shoes. The abbey is weirdly dark from here and looks down at us. There is talk about how kingdom sounds better than queendom but my mind is spinning from the clangs of the cubicle doors and now one of the Soothers is talking about facial recognition. There are police with huge guns and the river laps behind them. The eyes, the nose and the mouth says Soother.

12am

We are snaking and snaking and Odd Fella is eating Soothers’ sandwiches. The cold is running through me like an electrical current. My work friends tell me that David Beckham joined the queue at 2am. The smell of the portaloos gets stronger. A sharp pain hits my gut and moves around to my back. One of the Soothers is talking about guillotines and that’s not very soothing, Soother! I accept a toffee coin from Home-Straight to settle my nerves. A child is sat crying and rubbing his feet. I stare at a security camera and try to send subliminal messages. I want it to know about my gut pains. Odd Fella talks about lithium batteries. All of a sudden I spot AirPods. Orchards. And It’s-Getting-Cold-Later! Right there across the snake bend. And it is suddenly as if I am at my own funeral. They pretend to stare past me and I half try to catch their eye but am not committed to it. What kind of nightmare is this? And what have they been talking about all this time!? 

The Union Jack slinks above but I can’t quite lower my gaze to look at the abbey. Home-Straight is rubbing Soothers’ back. Snake is relentless. Snake chews it all up and coughs out your past ghosts and AirPods and Its-Getting-Cold-Later and the woman with bare legs and where the hell is Flip Flops? I crane to look for my old crew again but they seem to have disappeared. The generator roars at the base of a flood light. Emergency foil. Fruit pastels. Children. Snake. I hear AirPods’ voice saying cucumber sandwiches in my head. I’m not even sure if he ever mentioned cucumber sandwiches. We are coming out of the snake. The generator screams. The Thames screams. A man picks up a camping chair and sits on it for a split second then has to get up again to shuffle on and I can’t look at him. 

The chill has planted into my chest. The stewards start barking instructions to us. Home-Straight repeats them like a canary. Odd Fella needs to get rid of his lighter. Products are lined up on a wall. Lip gloss. Perfume. Nasal spray. Nail varnish. A woman squeezes as much hand sanitizer onto her palm as she can before chucking it. We’re outside the abbey now and the security is intense and everyone has gone! Soothers, Odd Fella, Home-Straight - gone! And I can’t understand it. All this time and at the last moment I’m all alone. I cross my legs and shake. And we’re about to walk in and a man is on the phone not realising that we're here! Security shout at him to turn off the phone and the man starts at the stairs and then turns to look down into my face and says we’re here! I say - that's right, we’re here. His blue eyes. I can’t believe it! Then suddenly quiet - we’re here.