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At no point in its lengthy and prestigious history had the local transit from Windsor to Staines received such a welcome. Escorted by police, shadowed by worldwide media, the vibrant single-decker rolled regally up Windsor’s central avenue, while spectators strained to catch a glimpse of the solitary elderly passenger inside. “He’s not there,” remarked one man, somewhat unnecessarily.

An Occasion of Plenty of Excitement About Hardly Anything

This was one of those days on the edges of the Thames: plenty of enthusiasm over not much, a secondary event that felt mostly secondary to the pageantry unfolding within the closed off castle grounds. “I’m afraid very little is going to occur, madam,” told a police officer a woman recording a online video from the kerb, as he directed her away toward the pavement.

Insignificant Occurrences and A Great Deal of Waiting

Naturally, certain things did occur, though nothing of major importance in the wider picture. Supporters called out things at each other. People argued over Gaza. Attendees flaunted flags and held up placards. A man in a Maga hat consumed a vinegary snack from the fish and chips store and made a face. Television crew members shuttled up and down Castle Hill delivering beverages to TV personalities. Drizzle drizzled.

The town became a crowded space watching other people look at things, simultaneously comforted by their physical proximity to the main event and dismayed by their inability to affect it.

Water Patrols and Unforeseen Wildlife

“We are ready for whatever may occur that will take place on or around the water,” stated Sgt Lyn Smith, chief of a combined marine unit from Thames Valley and Hampshire police. While the dignitaries neared Windsor, almost the only thing happening near the water was a swan relieving itself.

An Event Structured for Minimal Public Interaction

Of course, this spectacle without substance was in part integral to the arrangement, the logical consequence of a state visit whose main goal was to prevent any conceivable contact with actual people. As Trump and King Charles observed the guard, the crowd outside was left entirely to its own devices. A bit of advice: if you tell a political fan that his huge flag only has 49 stars on it, he’ll still be counting them half an hour later.

News Attention and the Quest for Material

Nonetheless, all had gathered and the cameras were rolling, so how was each outlet going to use up their airtime? The BBC was seen to spend the bulk of the day airing aerial shots of the castle. “Our top story today, stone building stays upright.”

“Observe some drops of rain on the camera there, and rain naturally has an impact on flying,” a talking head filibustered on a television network in an attempt to explain why Trump’s helicopter was yet to taken off. Clearly some different amusements was required.

The Enthusiasts Take the Spotlight

Step forward: the superfans. And they are rarely in limited quantity at events like these, attracted like creatures to a press area, obligingly filling hours of empty broadcast slots with their antics. There was a guy dressed from head to toe in UK and US flags. There was a woman with a restrained alsatian wrapped in a Maga vest. There was a guy who had spent two days painting a picture of Trump as a primitive figure, carrying King Charles on his back like a baby. There were people outside the retail outlet having intense disputes about the interpretation of genocide. All encountered a willing audience among the mobile journalists eager for copy, any copy, any kind of detail.

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

A Magnet for Nonconformists

Maybe it is unavoidable that any circus will attract a few eccentrics. But this does also seem to be a trait very particular to Trump: the unerring ability to attract outsiders and misfits wherever he goes. Frankly speaking: Trump himself is just a very weird guy, the kind of specimen you imagine would come from an unfortunate nuclear accident involving a large block of orange cheese. And in a sense his entire time in office has been a kind of beacon to the discontented, the gullible, the interested in plots, the semi-sentient. Misfits of the world, unite. We meet at Windsor at daybreak. Wear whatever you like.

Everyday Issues Interrupts

Dignitaries. Police. Journalists. The Hampshire and Berkshire branches of the Trump enthusiast network. Was there anyone here remotely normal? “Not in Windsor,” snorted the girl behind the bar of the Horse and Groom. “They’re all too busy yelling at each other.” And it’s possible there is something about this place that encourages the cosplay in everyone, a regal location with a town grudgingly attached, a kind of artificial England with its waves of flags and souvenir stores, a fantasy to sell the tourists. What sort of actuality were we really hoping to encounter here?

The real world does still make an appearance, if you pay close attention. A little distance from the chaotic mass, a couple of local Liberal Democrat councillors were handing out leaflets. Enhance our parks and playgrounds. Renew broken streetlights. Deal with “grot spots”, whatever they are. This is the policy that genuinely affects people’s lives, far closer at any rate than some American president sitting in a royal transport that nobody can see. But they’re having a tough time getting the point across. “We’re about supporting people, fixing things, serving communities,” says Mark Wilson of the Eton and Castle ward. “But that’s not what gets clicks.”

The Aftermath of the Spectacle

Within the grounds, men in funny hats were playing musical equipment. The dining arrangement in St George’s Hall was being laid. Outside, the crowds were leaving. The No 10 bus was well on its way to Staines. The woman in the Maga cap had entered Wagamama to grab some teppanyaki. And it was difficult not to sense the chasm between these spheres, far deeper than a castle wall, worlds momentarily close but perpetually separated.