🔗 Share this article

Not once in its extended and august history had the No 10 bus from Windsor to Staines been given such a reception. Guarded by police, tracked by worldwide media, the vibrant single-decker trundled regally up Windsor’s central avenue, while bystanders strained to see of the single pensioner inside. “That isn’t him,” remarked one man, somewhat pointlessly.

A Day of Great Fuss About Very Little

This was that kind of a day on the edges of the Thames: lots of anticipation over minimal activity, a distraction that felt largely marginal to the spectacle occurring within the restricted castle grounds. “Unfortunately very little is going to happen, madam,” told a police officer a woman filming a social media video from the curb, as he directed her a safe distance toward the pavement.

Minor Happenings and Plenty of Anticipating

Naturally, some occurrences did happen, albeit not much of major importance in the wider picture. Supporters called out comments at each other. Debates erupted over Gaza. Enthusiasts displayed flags and displayed placards. A man in a campaign merchandise ate a pickled egg from the local eatery and grimaced. Television assistants shuttled up and down Castle Hill ferrying coffees to on-screen talent. Light rain fell.

Windsor was a mass of spectators watching other people look at things, at once comforted by their nearness to the central happening and dismayed by their lack of capacity to affect it.

Marine Units and Surprising Nature

“We are ready for anything that will take place on or around the water,” announced Sgt Lyn Smith, head of a joint operations marine unit representing Thames Valley and Hampshire police. As the presidential party approached Windsor, almost the only thing taking place near the water was a swan taking a dump.

A Gathering Designed for Limited Engagement

Naturally, this spectacle without substance was to some extent integral to the arrangement, the expected outcome of a state visit whose guiding principle was to prevent any possible contact with real individuals. As Trump and King Charles reviewed the guard, the crowd outside was left totally 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.

Media Reporting and the Quest for Content

Nonetheless, all had gathered and the broadcasts were ongoing, so how was everyone going to fill their airtime? A leading broadcaster seemed to spend most of the morning showing aerial shots of the castle. “The main news today, historic structure continues to be upright.”

“Observe some precipitation on the camera there, and rain naturally has an impact on flying,” a talking head filibustered on Sky News in an attempt to explain why Trump’s helicopter was yet to taken off. Clearly some alternative entertainment was necessary.

The Devotees Take the Spotlight

Come forth: the dedicated supporters. And they are not ever in short supply at events like these, attracted like moths to a media pool, willingly filling hours of empty broadcast slots with their behaviors. There was a guy clad from head to toe in UK and US flags. There was a woman with a covered alsatian wrapped in a campaign apparel. 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 outdoor clothing shop having heated arguments about the definition of genocide. All discovered a receptive crowd among the roving reporters desperate for content, any copy, any kind of colour.

And you realise how quickly what counts as political opinion in this country is formed by the most audible – and by extension the craziest – people.

A Magnet for Misfits

It could be it is unavoidable that any circus will attract a few eccentrics. But this does also seem to be a quality very specific to Trump: the unerring ability to attract outcasts and misfits wherever he goes. Frankly speaking: Trump himself is just a very weird guy, the kind of person you imagine would result from an unlucky nuclear accident involving a large block of orange cheese. And in a sense his entire presidency has been a kind of bat signal to the unsatisfied, the gullible, the interested in plots, the not fully aware. Misfits of the world, unite. We assemble at Windsor at daybreak. Don whatever you like.

Local Reality Intrudes

Royals. Police. Journalists. The Hampshire and Berkshire branches of the Trump fanclub. Was there anyone here at all typical? “Not in Windsor,” laughed the girl behind the bar of the Horse and Groom. “They’re all too busy shouting at each other.” And it’s possible there is something about this place that encourages the dress-up in everyone, a royal seat with a town grudgingly attached, a kind of façade England with its waves of bunting and novelty shops, a fantasy to sell the tourists. What sort of reality were we really hoping to encounter here?

Reality does still make an appearance, if you look hard enough. A little distance from the chaotic mass, a couple of local Liberal Democrat councillors were distributing leaflets. Upgrade our parks and playgrounds. Renew broken streetlights. Deal with “eyesores”, whatever they are. This is the politics that truly 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 looking after people, addressing things, serving communities,” says Mark Wilson of the Eton and Castle ward. “But that’s not what gets clicks.”

The End of the Spectacle

Within the grounds, men in distinctive caps were playing musical equipment. The dining arrangement in St George’s Hall was being set. Outside, the crowds were breaking up. The No 10 bus was well on its way to Staines. The woman in the political hat had gone into Wagamama to grab some teppanyaki. And it was difficult not to sense the divide between these realities, far deeper than a castle wall, worlds briefly adjacent but eternally estranged.