Britain was turning out in droves to farewell their Queen.
In fact, a number of people I ended up sharing a tiny patch of pavement with had been camped out since the night before.
No one even seemed bothered by the cramped, cold and uncomfortable conditions: like reports of camaraderie in the queue to view the Queen's coffin recently, people seemed deeply committed and enthusiastic about being there to witness such a historic event.
With the world's leaders, foreign monarchs and the British royal family inside Westminster Abbey, there was enough pomp and ceremony to keep eyes glued to television screens.
But outside, just metres away and with no view of the funeral itself, hundreds of thousands of people – myself included – had a very different experience.
The silent crowd
It's a truly bizarre feeling to be in the thick of a pack of hundreds of thousands where basically no one is speaking.
There had been a respectful buzz in the air in the hours before proceedings began, but around 9.40am, when the HM Royal Marines Band began to lead the march through Westminster, the atmosphere swiftly shifted gears into one of sombre silence.
The only sounds that could be heard mingling with the music was the occasional hushed whisper, shuffling feet and the constant drone of helicopters circling overhead as high-profile guests began to arrive at the abbey.
The cheers
The temperature was low and people were shoulder-to-shoulder with nowhere to sit before dawn had even broken, but a sense of national pride was thick in the air.
As people waited hour after hour, members of the armed forces and Metropolitan Police continued marching past in packs, each time eliciting a huge cheer from the crowd.
'God Save the Queen'
After 70 years of "God Save the Queen", and in one of Monday's most poignant moments, the anthem was sung for the final time within the abbey.
Outside, some mourners openly wept as they heard the haunting strains and everyone joined in to create a send-off that echoed up and down the streets of Westminster and into the memories of everyone fortunate enough to be there to witness it.
Then, in a perfectly symbolic key change, they segued into "God Save the King" in honour of their new monarch, King Charles III.
The royal buzz
Our spot in the crowd meant that we were perfectly positioned for a pretty solid sighting of all the royals as they headed off on the post-service procession to Wellington Arch.
Having been part of the press pack for Harry and Meghan's 2018 tour of Australia, I'd had some experience of the general public buzz when a royal shows up somewhere.
But that barely prepared me for the shift in the atmosphere when they arrived en masse, alongside the Queen's coffin, against the backdrop of a monumental royal event.
Whispers alongside me started early: "Charles is coming, it's the King," "William is behind him, I think Harry's walking with him," "Oh look, there's Kate in the car with Charlotte!"
After sharing in the grief and watching them soldier through a jam-packed week of official engagements, actually seeing the exhausted royals in person undertaking yet another duty while mourning their beloved mother, grandmother and great-grandmother is an image that will be hard to shake.
The absolute chaos
The lead-up to and funeral service itself is one I feel deeply privileged to have been part of – but what happened afterwards will make everyone else glad they watched it on TV.
Chaos. There was chaos. This massive national event had been planned for years, reportedly with the Queen's own input, but somehow – SOMEHOW – in the endless conversations about logistics, no one thought to establish an exit for the thousands of punters who would be pouring into Westminster.
Confusion reigned supreme as crowds surged one way toward a locked gate and then the other way, only to be greeted by the same thing, and all being told by multiple security personnel and police officers that they needed to go back in the opposite direction.
Authorities then realised there was no exit actually open at all and began awkwardly discussing potential options in front of an impatient audience before landing on the advice: "It'll be at least an hour before something opens up, sorry."
Understandably, exhausted mourners – including this one – were visibly frustrated.
However, once we were finally all out, and with food and drink in hand, it was back to reflecting on the significance of what had just unfolded.
And that's an experience that will stay with me forever.
