Sitting in a folding chair, Elizabeth Allingham is well prepared for a night camping out on The Mall.
She’s brought books, playing cards, candles, a bottle of champagne – with accompanying flutes – and a picnic charcuterie platter. So organised is the 53-year-old barrister, she’s even come armed with a tea towel (a commemorative jubilee one, of course) to keep wasps off her food.
The only thing missing, perhaps, is a camp bed or tent. “But I won’t be doing much sleeping tonight, anyway,” she says. “It’s too exciting.”
Thus grows the air of anticipation – some might call it festival vibes – along this famous London thoroughfare ahead of the Queen’s funeral on Monday.
Allingham – who has travelled from Leicester – is one of thousands staying the night here in order to get a front-row spot for the procession of Elizabeth II’s coffin from Westminster Abbey to Wellington Arch.
The campers have come from across the UK, armed with tents, flasks, tin-foil sheets, picnic food, puzzle books, games and, as it turns out, not an insignificant amount of booze.
Is this appropriate in the black-tie circumstances? Yes, says one: Monday will be a sombre, respectful affair, but the night before is a celebration of a life well lived and a reign well ruled.
Allingham, for what it’s worth, has also brought a bumper box of tissues. “I’m enjoying the atmosphere today,” she says. “But I know I’ll be crying buckets tomorrow.”
She has come with a colleague, 30-year-old Andrew Horner, who, despite being a royalist, admits that he needed some arm-twisting to join the endeavour. “But I’m warming to it now,” he says. “Although that may be the brandy.”
For many here, this is not, so to speak, their first royal rodeo. Linda McQuaid, 66, has been camping out at such events since 1986, when Prince Andrew married Sarah Ferguson.
Her Mall neighbour – and new friend – Heather Savage, 52, earned her stripes during Princess Diana’s funeral in 1997. Both of them – and many others – are already plotting similar escapades for the new King’s coronation next year.
“The key is to come early and get somewhere close to the toilets and near a cafe where you can get a hot drink,” says McQuaid with the air of a seasoned veteran and master tactician. “But you also want to be about halfway along [The Mall] so you can see [the procession] in both directions for as long as possible.”
She and Savage both arrived on Saturday morning. That means they will have spent more than 48 hours effectively living on a London street. Forgive the question, but what do they do hygiene-wise?
“You only need a pack of wet wipes to have a good wash,” declares McQuaid, a nurse from Watford. “If you have those and a toothbrush, you can always feel fresh.”
There is, many of the campers say, no chance of boredom during the wait. Most are too busy making friends (“as the Queen would have wanted”, notes one person) and – frankly – too busy giving media interviews.
“Lots of overseas TV,” says Savage, a hospital worker who has travelled from Epsom. “It just shows how well-loved she was.”
There is also, says Nikki Sammon, lots to keep them entertained. “The whole build-up is fascinating,” the 42-year-old practice manager declares. “The scale of what is taking place is amazing. There has been so much to see.”
Really? Like what? “All the diplomat cars, the police, even the street cleaners,” she replies. “It’s wall-to-wall viewing, really.”
The Smith family, who have come down from Buxton, even say they saw the King himself being driven past on Sunday morning. Or at least, mum Amy and the three kids – Leo, 14, Kay, 12, and Monty, 9 – saw him. Dad Dominic was off trying to find some food for everyone.
“Unbelievable timing,” he notes ruefully. At least he’s seen a few street cleaners.
The family say they had hummed and hawed about coming down since last Saturday. “I didn’t want to do it to start with, because we’re basically sleeping in a street in the middle of London,” says 12-year-old Kay with some profoundness.
But now they are here, they are delighted with their decision.
“It feels like an adventure,” says Leo. “And it’s history. Seeing Charles and him waving at us – that will be something I remember forever. I’ll be able to tell [my children] about it.”
To fill the long hours ahead, he’s brought his maths homework. Monty has brought Uno cards to play.
“It’s a long time to be here,” admits Dominic, a cycle route manager. “It won’t be a comfy night. But sometimes when you don’t live in London, you can feel disconnected from a lot of this stuff. So, we felt it was quite important that [the children] should come and see it and just be part of it.”
As dusk draws in, and candles are lit – and perhaps one or two more bottles are opened – it is, indeed, difficult not to feel “part” of something.
In her union jack woolly hat, Claire Evans – a retired teacher from Cambridge – considers all this. It is her second royal wait of the week after attending the lying-in-state on Thursday night and Friday morning.
“I’m not a fanatic or anything,” she decides. “I just respect them [the royal family] so much, and I think it’s important to show that.”
