I’ll admit, I wasn’t totally sober when I joined the back of the queue. My best pal Holly and I had been out for dinner the night before and debated whether to join the mourners while monitoring the online tracker of that long line snaking across from Southwark Park to Westminster Hall. We’d only do it if the estimated queue time got down to 12 hours we decided, as we ordered a second bottle. By the end of the second bottle, it was 12 hours. We hurried home, set alarms for 3am and caught an Uber to the dark, damp...