Nine lessons and carols at King's College Chapel on Christmas Eve, part 3

As I passed through the gateway into Kings College the porter smiled and handed me a piece of paper which gave me guidelines to queuing.  It was just after eight a.m., I had walked the three quarters of a mile to King’s Parade from where I had left my car in Richmond Road which is just far enough out of the city centre to have no parking restrictions or meters.  It was still raining, the sandwiches, flask, extra layers and other things I had considered might be useful and stuck in my rucksack were heavier than I would have liked but as I joined the end of the line and did a quick tally I reckoned I was about ninetieth in place.  I nodded and smiled to myself, proud I had crow-barred myself out of bed; with two hundred seats in front of the chancel screen and four hundred behind I might even be lucky enough to get a seat which would give me a wonderful view of the triptych and choir.   Dropping my rucksack and camping stool on the ground I contemplated the hours that stretched ahead of me and considered my plan.  At nine o’clock I would have coffee, at eleven a round of sandwiches and a trip to the loo and at midday a bar of chocolate.   I prepared for myself a little series of milestones which would help see the hours through. Steadily the line grew, my feet got cold despite the walking boots and as the rain came and went I resorted to wrapping myself in the waterproof backed picnic blanket I had brought along.  I drank my coffee and ate my cheese and tomato sandwiches.  Texts of Christmas wishes came in and texts of Christmas wishes went out.  And slowly, as people chatted and exchanged bits of interest about themselves a sense of resolve and camaraderie built up bolstered by the fact that by now the porters were turning people away.  We had become a successful and happy little bunch of folk who had one thing in common; we were guaranteed a seat at the service.  Places were saved in the queue while people went to fetch coffee, to answer the call of nature (no need really for my flask, sandwiches or bog-in-a-bag since the coffee shop was opened in the KC common room).  I timed my loo breaks just right to avoid the queues. At midday the Kings Singers arrived and serenaded us in the rain, just after which a small troop of youngsters from Kings College prep school in capes and top hats appeared out of a door in the Gibb’s Building and then disappeared through the chapel door.  Our spirits rose as we heard the distant sounds of music and singing filter across the quad to where we were standing.   Just before one o’clock, interested to know how far down the queue I was, I wandered up to the front.  I realised then, that what I had naively assumed was the head of the line was in fact nowhere near.  As I turned the corner of Gibb’s building I saw in front of me a line three times as long as the one in which I had been ensconced for the last five hours. A line with at least three hundred other people patiently queuing.  My shoulders drooped as I realised in reality how far down the line I actually was, even more so when I learned that people had been standing in line since three o’clock the previous afternoon, a whole twenty four hours before the service started.  I saw myself destined for some camping chair deep in the far dark recesses of the nave.