Push the button, push push the button.

"How good is your memory?", he asked me.
"Pretty good." Before adding, honestly, "unless it's something important to do with work, in which case awful."
"Well, what you say is 'Attention bridge crew. Traffic control started'. Got that?"
"I reckon."
"Well, then", he said. "Do you want to have a go?"
I looked at the bank of buttons in front of me, and then through the control room window onto Tower Bridge below.
"Do I?", I said.

You might have heard of Tower Bridge. As landmarks go it's quite well known, and as a part of my research for this about a year and a half ago I got chatting to someone who worked in the engineering department of the Corporation of London who, it turned out, was in the "Making tower Bridge go up and down" division.
"I'd totally love to have a go at that", I said.
"We don't allow members of the public to operate it. Everyone would want a try. I mean, really, wouldn't they? Better not to let anyone."
"Yeah, but, y'know, I'm hardly an ordinary member of the public."
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease".

It's a testament to the power of shameless grovelling that after a mere year and a half I found myself standing in the control room of an iconic feature of the London skyline, a bank of buttons and a big lever in front of me.
Tower Bridge, in case you didn't know, was built between 1886 - 94 and despite what was implied in Guy Ritchie's Sherlock Holmes there isn't a secret passage to the basement of Parliament (I asked). Once it was completed an Act of Parliament decreed that the bridge must be opened upon demand in order that the flow of river traffic - especially boats carrying food to the rapidly-expanding Victorian metropolis - was not impeded in any way, and as a result the bridge is still raised 3-4 times a day.
The bascules - those are the bits which open and close - are fixed as see-saws meaning that despite weighing 1250 tons each they pivot on bearings at their middle and only about six tons of force is required to get them open and shut.

Anyway, you make an announcement over the tannoy and watch the various fluorescent-clad workers scurrying about, hurrying pedestrians, closing gates, that sort of thing and once that's all done you press buttons to lock the gates and unlock the bridge.
And than you pull the lever which makes the bridge open. If someone had told me when I was about eight that one day I'd get to do that I'd almost certainly become so giddy with excitement I'd have wet myself*. In tribute to my younger self I wet myself and then watched, slightly damp as everyone edged away from me, as a masted barge slid gracefully between the arches.

Boat passed, bridge lowered, buttons pressed to lock it in place and release the traffic from behind the gates, I had a huge grin on my face. Opening tower Bridge may well be the coolest thing possible. I asked if I could have another go, but was very politely told no but they would show me round the engine rooms and the interior of the pontoons (which are, in fact, hollow), which I gleefully accepted.

So there you go. I've operated Tower Bridge. Which makes me the coolest friend you've got. By definition.

*Actually, I'd've probably wet myself anyway. You know how it is when you're little.