extract from robin cook's the point of departure:
Tuesday 9 April
Funeral of the Queen Mother at Westminster Abbey. The entire Cabinet is on parade seated in the Canons' Stalls in the choir. The ceremony was conducted with minimum pomp and maximum dignity.
The medieval acoustics of Westminster Abbey trump any state-of-the-art concert hall. The meticulous punctuality of the whole ceremony was stunning, especially as it was carried out at a week's notice. Stephen Byers was sitting next to me on the pew and got mercilessly ribbed on why Britain could run a royal funeral with such punctuality but could not get its trains to run on time. Would it not be better to take Railtrack out of administration and hand it over now to the Household Cavalry?
In the hopeless melee outside the Abbey afterwards it was impossible to find our cars. I walked down Victoria Street to the flower stall where I bought a bouquet of white lilies for Gaynor as it is our wedding anniversay. The quickest way back was past Buckingham Palace and up The Mall. For half a mile up The Mall the verge was carpeted with flowers laid outside Clarence House by well-wishers of the Queen Mother. It was only when I was coming to the end of this field of commemoration that it dawned on me I was getting suspicious looks from members of the public who were clearly concerned that I'd helped myself to one of her bouquets of flowers.