Thousands of Britons line the streets as Queen Elizabeth II is transferred via gun carriage from Buckingham Palace to lie in state in Westminster Hall. Video / Getty / The Royal Family

I'm getting the feeling that if I need to go anywhere, for any reason, near anything to do with the Queen's farewell, now is the time to go.

Now the late monarch's body is back in London, carried off a Royal Air Force Globemaster C-17 by her own Colour Squadron after the enormous military transport aircraft landed at RAF Northolt early on Wednesday (NZT), there's more disruption, more barriers and generally more mayhem in the Queen's home city.

Buckingham Palace and the Mall, roads on and around both closed all week, have become progressively busier all week as locals and visitors flock to the British monarchy's home base.

At Green Park, a short stroll across which ends at Buckingham Palace, streams of after-work palacegoers hoping for glimpse of Queen Elizabeth's coffin after its arrival in London were instead met by a 2m-high iron wire mesh fence.

"You needed to be here at 6am", a security worker yelled at those hoping to be at the palace when the coffin arrived about 8pm on Tuesday local time.

"That's when people started coming down here. You showing up at half seven [pm], no chance."

I'm among the tardy and hear myself asking, rather pointlessly, if there's any other way to get near the palace.

The guard has no patience for silly visitors from the other side of the world wanting the impossible.

"The palace has been closed by the police. The only place you can get to is the floral tribute and Constitution Hill.

"I've been saying that for hours - I'm losing my voice here."

Sorry about that is as much as I can offer in response.

"I think I just need some New Zealand lamb, you know?" he says.

"With mint sauce and potatoes."

I direct him to the nearest supermarket for the cheapest cuts.

He nods, then it's back to business.

"Now on your way, off you go."

The whole city's one big memorial right now. And you certainly don't need to see the Queen's coffin to be reminded that she's gone.

Her image is everywhere - in windows, bus shelters and big screens, and usually accompanied by cliched tributes that remind me of the endless references to "unprecedented times" we endured from any business or organisation with a mailing list during the first Covid-19 lockdown.

Down at the floral tribute, a hundred stewards zipped up in fluoro vests head one way, as bouquets mushroom by the second the other way - helped along by hawkers parked up nearby.

"Lovely flowers for the Queen", yells one parked in a camping chair next to buckets of red, white and blue offerings.

London sisters Jill and Lynn Hurley haven't come with flowers. Just memories, and a sense of duty to not just their late Queen, but their mum.

"Our mum wants us to say a prayer", Lynn Hurley says.

"She can't get here. She's 85 and she loves the Queen. She's devastated."

It's pouring down now, but no one moans.

East Londoner Sarah Stafford has her hood up and her grin fixed.

She proudly shows the Herald a photo of her mum meeting the Queen when she was awarded an MBE for services relating to the creation of the Millennium Dome.

With her crew of young relatives huddled around her, Stafford's still buzzing after seeing the monarch's coffin driven past as they were walking along Park Lane minutes earlier.

Everyone stopped and looked, she says.

"People in bars came out, people in hotels were standing on their balconies. It was amazing."

Like most of us, her life's very different to that of the former head of state.

But that doesn't matter, she says.

"I love the Queen. She just feels like your Nan, don't she?"