Queen Elizabeth in Edinburgh

The death of a (previously healthy) person aged 96 is cause to celebrate a long existence upon this earth. Way more than the three score and ten traditionally granted by the big man upstairs. While the Queen had looked decidedly frail at the formal appointment of new Prime Minister Liz Truss at Balmoral Castle, nobody imagined she would be gone just two days later, particularly as all reports suggested she was still as sharp as a tack mentally. The suddenness of the passing was a surprise and the loss of a permanent fixture in our lives really hit home. You would have be over 80 to have any meaningful recall of King George VI.

I learned on the lunchtime news about the serious health concerns. The fact her family were all scrambling to reach Balmoral on the same day was indeed an ominous sign. I was staying behind at work for a parents information evening - busying myself with admin tasks - when the formal announcement of the Queen's death came through. Ten minutes later I had to throw myself into my professional commitments, then make a very wet bus journey home. Social media was of course awash with tributes to the departed sovereign and the regular BBC channels reported solely on the day we hoped wouldn't come, but inevitably had to. I assume there was extensive coverage across the globe - the Queen was Head of State in many Commonwealth nations. Other countries do have monarchies but none command the level of public interest that goes hand in hand with the British institution. The Queen spent 70 years tirelessly representing the United Kingdom around the world and performed her constitutional duties until the very end. Basically she kept going. Something I admire immensely. Politicians come and go but the monarch is appointed for life to serve the people. The Queen's reign encompassed many prime ministers, American presidents, and popes. Her name and image is embedded firmly into innumerable facets of everyday life. Her absence will be felt deeply. I muddled though work on the Friday and the full sense of what had happened began to soak in over the weekend. The TV cameras followed the events in minute detail, while the newspapers all produced special editions and supplements. I bought a few. The Queen loved her daily papers and correspondence. Life does go on - I watched the broadcasts on Saturday and Sunday evenings but went out during the day. It was always well documented that Balmoral Estate in Aberdeenshire was the Queen's favourite retreat and you have to wonder whether she knew her time was short and decided to live out her final days in the Scottish countryside. Her death up here meant Scotland was intimately involved in arranging the transportation of Her Majesty's coffin back to London.

The Royal hearse made it's way south to Holyrood Palace on the Sunday afternoon. I caught some footage of the journey on the BBC and saw the broadcast of Charles being proclaimed King at the Mercat Cross in Edinburgh. The adjacent St Giles Cathedral was to host the coffin for one day, following a procession up the Royal Mile on Monday afternoon, during which the Queen's children would be present on foot. I wasn't able to make the parade due to work commitments but I resolved to hop on a bus afterwards to the capital, so that I might pay my respects in some small way. A vigil was due to be performed within the cathedral by King Charles and his siblings at around 7.30pm. I had heard public viewing would be available for a full 24 hours, but also that queues were expected to be several hours long, all through the night. Time I didn't have. It was a lovely September evening and I arrived in Princes Street around 5.15pm, making my way along Market Street to join the lower reaches of the Royal Mile, where heraldic banners hung from the buildings on either side. Crowd barriers ran all the way up the street and police were stationed every 30 yards, along with many stewards. Clearly, the royal party would be passing this way, a fact confirmed by a policewoman with whom I had a quick word. I decided to see how close I could get to St Giles and found a spot behind the barrier looking directly at the main entrance, some 50 yards distant. There was a row of people directly before me but I had the advantage of height. Several foreign tourists stood around me and nobody was entirely sure what would be happening here - if anything. The local police weren't giving much away and were busy trying to maintain a clear pathway on the pavement. I surmised there wouldn't be intensive security (and a TV presence) unless the King was on his way. Surely they would enter through the front door. One Scottish chap was on the phone to someone watching the TV at home and he kept us posted with updates on the whereabouts of the royal group. We received word they had left Holyrood Palace and - after a couple of false starts where security cars rolled by - the limousine carrying Charles & Camilla drove up to the entrance. The sudden appearance of plain-clothes officers watching the crowd had alerted us to the imminent arrival.

A sea of camera phones were simultaneously raised and the first royal I actually saw was Princess Anne - who stepped out of a Range Rover parked behind the main vehicle. She was followed by Andrew and Edward. The King & Queen Consort emerged and the party were welcomed at the front door before disappearing inside. It obviously wasn't the sort of occasion for them to come over and speak to the crowd. The people with vistors wristbands had begun filing inside about an hour previously and I saw footage later on iPlayer of the crowds walking past the coffin as the Queen's children stood guard. I caught a bus home, satisfied I'd made my own little personal pilgrimage to say goodbye to our beloved sovereign. A few days later, I added comments to a book of condolences at Dunfermline Carnegie Library. We will never see the likes of Queen Elizabeth again. God bless her noble reign.