Last Day

 It’s the last day of the queue and I don’t know what I’m going to do. It’s been a soothing balm. There’ll never be telly like it again.

It relaxes the dog so much he can sleep during the day, which is unheard of for my ADHD puppy. 

The met office have even listed The Queue as a weather destination. 

The Queue has become the go-to destination of 2022. It’s the thing we’ve trained for our whole lives.

I hear the Long Suffering Husband chuckle as he comes down the stairs.

“You’re watching it again?” He asks, “Does anything ever change?”

The people.

The people change. They’re wearing scarves now.

But my favourite thing is the near-silence. A sliding foot gait, a squeaky shoe, or a particularly asthmatic breather can be heard. Babies cry or happily gurgle and children say, “Mummy?” But mostly there’s nothing. It’s the perfect walking into assembly line. 

Almost silence until the Queen knocks on the coffin and they change the guard. (I know it’s the guard at the top of the stone steps bashing a sword on the floor but I’m not always watching and so that’s what I imagine) Shiny shoes tap and march into position while everyone holds their breath.  Some of those guards are pretty old and I suspect they are very glad to go to the jubilee committee room for a cup of tea and a custard cream. 

Tomorrow, the queue stops and the coffin is removed at 6.30 am to be funeralised (if people can say coronated then I’m happy to make up words too). The man on the radio just told me that events like these will be given lots of impromata (I’m obviously not the only one making up words). I know it won’t be as exciting as the queue but the dog and I will be watching.