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At no point in its long and distinguished record had the local transit from Windsor to Staines experienced such a welcome. Escorted by police, tracked by global media, the brightly colored single-decker trundled stately up Windsor’s central avenue, while bystanders strained to get a look of the solitary elderly passenger inside. “He’s not there,” muttered one man, a bit superfluously.

An Event of Great Fuss About Hardly Anything

This was one of those days on the edges of the Thames: a great deal of anticipation over minimal activity, a secondary event that felt largely secondary to the pageantry unfolding within the sealed castle grounds. “I’m afraid nothing’s going to occur, madam,” informed a police officer a woman recording a social media video from the kerb, as he moved her away toward the pavement.

Minor Occurrences and A Great Deal of Anticipating

Of course, certain things actually happen, though nothing of significant impact in the wider picture. Supporters called out things at each other. Debates erupted over Gaza. People waved flags and displayed placards. A man in a political cap consumed a vinegary snack from the fish and chips store and winced. Television crew members shuttled up and down Castle Hill ferrying coffees to TV personalities. Light rain fell.

Windsor was a crowded space watching other people see things, at once pleased by their physical proximity to the main event and frustrated by their inability to change it.

River Security and Surprising Local Fauna

“Our team is prepared for whatever may occur that will happen on or around the water,” stated Sgt Lyn Smith, chief of a collaborative marine unit representing Thames Valley and Hampshire police. As the dignitaries came close to Windsor, almost the only thing taking place near the water was a swan taking a dump.

A Festival Designed for Limited Public Interaction

Naturally, this festival of nothing was in part built into the design, the expected outcome of a state visit whose guiding principle was to prevent any imaginable contact with actual people. Whereas Trump and King Charles observed the guard, the crowd outside was left completely to its own amusements. A small hint: if you tell a political fan that his oversized flag only has 49 stars on it, he’ll still be tallying them half an hour later.

News Coverage and the Quest for Material

Nonetheless, all had gathered and the broadcasts were ongoing, so how was each outlet going to use up their programs? One major network seemed to spend the bulk of the day airing aerial shots of the castle. “The main news today, historic structure remains upright.”

“Observe some raindrops on the camera there, and rain naturally has an effect on flying,” a talking head spoke at length on Sky News in an effort to explain why Trump’s helicopter was yet to taken off. Obviously some different amusements was needed.

The Superfans Step the Spotlight

Enter: the dedicated supporters. And they are never in short supply at events like these, pulled like creatures to a press area, readily filling hours of silent moments with their antics. There was a guy outfitted from head to toe in UK and US flags. There was a woman with a muzzled alsatian wrapped in a Maga vest. There was a guy who had spent two days painting a picture of Trump as a early human, carrying King Charles on his back like a baby. There were people outside the Barbour store having blazing rows about the interpretation of genocide. All discovered a willing audience among the itinerant correspondents desperate for content, any copy, any kind of detail.

One understands how easily what passes for political opinion in this country is formed by the loudest – and by extension the most eccentric – people.

An Attraction for Nonconformists

Perhaps it is unavoidable that any show will attract a few characters. But this does also seem to be a trait very particular to Trump: the consistent ability to attract outsiders and nonconformists wherever he goes. Frankly speaking: Trump himself is just a very unusual guy, the kind of person you imagine would be produced by an unfortunate nuclear accident involving a large block of orange cheese. And in a sense his entire leadership has been a kind of bat signal to the unsatisfied, the trusting, the conspiracy-curious, the less than conscious. Misfits of the world, unite. We gather at Windsor at daybreak. Don whatever you like.

Everyday Issues Intrudes

Royals. Police. Journalists. The Hampshire and Berkshire branches of the Trump enthusiast network. Was there anyone here remotely normal? “Not in Windsor,” remarked the girl behind the bar of the Horse and Groom. “They’re all too busy yelling at each other.” And perhaps there is something about this place that elicits the cosplay in everyone, a royal seat with a town unwillingly attached, a kind of Potemkin England with its waves of bunting and novelty shops, a fantasy to sell the tourists. What sort of reality were we really anticipating to encounter here?

Reality does still make an appearance, if you look hard enough. A little distance from the noisy assembly, a couple of local civic-minded councillors were handing out leaflets. Enhance our parks and playgrounds. Renew broken streetlights. Deal with “grot spots”, whatever they are. This is the governance that actually affects people’s lives, far closer at any rate than some American president sitting in a horse-drawn carriage that nobody can see. But they’re having a hard moment getting the message across. “We’re about supporting people, fixing things, looking after communities,” says Mark Wilson of the Eton and Castle ward. “But that’s not what gets clicks.”

The Conclusion of the Spectacle

Inside the grounds, men in unusual headwear were playing wind devices. The feasting setup in St George’s Hall was being laid. Outside, the crowds were breaking up. The No 10 bus was well on its way to Staines. The woman in the campaign cap had dived into Wagamama to grab some teppanyaki. And it was difficult not to sense the chasm between these worlds, far thicker than a castle wall, worlds briefly nearby but perpetually divided.