I queued for 10 hours to see the Queen lying-in-state. It was cold, boring, and exhausting, but a deeply moving reminder of the power of the monarchy.

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Already known as simply "The Queue" by many Brits, the massive line to see the Queen lying-in-state has been one of the great talking points in the UK this week.

Stretching over four miles from the Palace of Westminster to Southwark Park in the southeast of London, the queue is a monumental feat of Britishness.

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Throughout the lying-in-state period, the government has provided regular updates on the length and duration of the line so that well-wishers and mourners know what they're in for before joining.

I went along with my sister, joining the line at Southwark Park around 7:15 p.m. Thursday. As we arrived, a government Twitter account told us to expect a wait of around nine hours.

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Brits are undeniably excellent at standing in line. We're famous for it. Immediately upon joining the queue, it was clear that most people would be respectful of the system put in place by the thousands of staff dotted along the route.

For the first couple of hours, the queue was not really a queue but more a slightly disjointed walking tour of east London.

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For a mile or so, we followed the instructions of marshals, who pointed us down a series of side streets heading west towards the iconic Tower Bridge, walking at a leisurely but deliberate pace.

The queue proper began in Potter's Fields — a park sandwiched between Tower Bridge and City Hall, seat of the Mayor of London.

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In the park, I was given a pink wristband. It was confirmation that I was, in fact, in the queue and not just a regular Joe taking a late-night stroll along the Thames.

Having a wristband on meant I could drop out of and rejoin the queue to do things like using the restroom or getting a coffee or a beer.

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By the time I had my wristband on, it was around 8:45 p.m., and I had been in line for over an hour and a half. Little did I know I was only 15% of the way through.

Leaving behind Tower Bridge, we made steady progress along the south bank of the River Thames, reaching London Bridge — around half a mile further up the river — just 20 minutes later. Tributes to the Queen littered the route.

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By 9:40 p.m., less than an hour after passing Tower Bridge, I'd reached another icon of London, The Globe, a modern recreation of the original theater where William Shakespeare debuted many of Western history's most famous plays.

The mood in the queue was positive. During the first few hours, many groups who didn't know each other got chatting, including a couple of folks who'd come solo and paired up for some companionship in the line.

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At the Globe, things started to slow down. It followed a general pattern: we'd walk for about two minutes before stopping for two minutes, then starting again.

It was a little tedious, but the beautiful views across the Thames to St. Paul's Cathedral and the City of London made the stop-start traffic much more bearable.

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What struck me during this period was how little I thought about why I was queuing. My mind filled with thoughts like "Man, I'm gonna be tired as heck at work tomorrow," and "what should I cook for dinner this weekend," rather than my impending observance of our deceased monarch.

Around three hours into queuing, some folks were starting to tire. An elderly woman in front of me was visibly unsteady on her feet but powered through. Many people were making the trip using walking sticks or crutches but remained determined to pay their respects.

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As we passed along the South Bank, an area popular for leisure activities, volunteers from the Salvation Army passed out free water, while police officers marshaling the crowd chatted amiably and shared candy and chocolates.

The atmosphere was pretty upbeat for such a solemn occasion; I guess standing in contemplative silence for several hours would be mind-achingly dull.

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One of the most heartening moments of the night came around 11:30 p.m. when we got our first glimpse of the Palace of Westminster, our ultimate destination.

"We're nearly there," I heard one person say. How wrong they were.

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After passing the London Eye, the queue snaked down Westminster Bridge, the gateway to the UK's political heart, before passing along a stretch of the river, which includes the COVID Memorial Wall.

The wall, covered in thousands of painted hearts, serves as a place for those who lost loved ones during the pandemic to pay tribute. As thousands of us queued to pay our respects to the Queen, I found the wall even more poignant than usual.

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By now, we were right opposite the Houses of Parliament and felt close. Sadly, a pair of friendly police officers quickly removed that optimism. We'd be waiting at least five more hours, they told us. It was already past midnight.

The stretch of river between Westminster and Lambeth Bridges is visually arresting, thanks to Sir Charles Barry and Augustus Pugin's magnificent Palace of Westminster. However, nearly six hours in, the queue was starting to drag.

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That feeling intensified once we crossed the river and found ourselves in a massive roped-off maze of barriers. The area stretched along the riverside and took over three hours to pass through, including one point at which the queue was stationary for over an hour.

It was the middle of the night, and it was starting to get very cold. I was OK as I'd bought five layers of clothing with me, but some mourners were given foil blankets to keep them warm.

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Many in the queue started to flag. When things ground to a halt, more than half the people around me sat on the ground and took a load off. I'm too stubborn for that, so I stood up the whole time.

As the queue started moving again at around 3:30 a.m., the few children present were struggling. I witnessed several kids crying, with unsure parents not knowing what to do for the best. Turn back, waste eight hours of queuing, or get the children to bed?

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By 4:30 a.m., we were finally nearing the end of the corral, with cheery volunteers handing out snacks and reassuring us that the end was near. "Stay positive, guys! You can do this," one yelled as I passed him.

The queue was almost over! Just one thing remained: security.

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The security situation was described as "airport style," but with one key difference — it was staffed exclusively by police officers. After a very thorough bag search, it was time to pay our respects to Queen Elizabeth II.

Phones and cameras were forbidden beyond the security checkpoint, so the pictures that follow are taken from news agencies, and do not show my exact experience.

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After 10 hours of queuing, it seemed almost unreal to have reached our goal, and an awed quiet fell on the crowd as we processed along the edge of the Palace of Westminster to the entrance of Westminster Hall, where the Queen's body lay in state.

Westminster Hall's atmosphere was undoubtedly the most emotionally charged experience I have ever had. Nothing in my life compared to the intensity of feeling that virtually every person in the hall could sense.

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The reverential hush was akin to being inside a place of worship during an important religious festival, just much, much more intense. Everywhere I looked, people seemed utterly in awe. Many were weeping as they approached the catafalque upon which the Queen's coffin lay.

The occasion had added significance for my sister and me as her husband, an officer in the Household Cavalry regiment of the British Army, was on duty guarding the coffin.

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Seeing someone I know and love being so intimately involved in a profound moment of British history made an already moving experience even more so.

After around two minutes of peaceful mourning, gazing at the coffin draped in the Royal Standard, we left the hall. I could not speak for several minutes afterward, and I was close to tears when I tried.

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I came away from the experience more deeply moved than I could have imagined. I'm a Royalist through and through but had not been hugely upset by the Queen's death, shocked, yes, but upset, no.

As I walked home through the dawn light at around 6:00 a.m. on Friday, it struck me that what made the occasion so intense was that the laying-in-state, rather than just representing the death of the monarch, was the first genuinely tangible marker for the general public that the second Elizabethan era is over.

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As the sun rose over London, I headed to bed for two hours before work, still processing the intensity of the atmosphere inside Westminster Hall.