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Never before in its long and distinguished record had the local transit from Windsor to Staines received such a greeting. Accompanied by police, tracked by international media, the vibrant single-decker made its way stately up Windsor’s main street, while spectators craned to get a look of the single pensioner inside. “He’s not there,” whispered one man, somewhat superfluously.

An Event of Much Ado About Very Little

It was such an occasion on the edges of the Thames: a great deal of anticipation over not much, a secondary event that felt mainly secondary to the spectacle occurring within the closed off castle grounds. “I’m afraid nothing’s going to take place, madam,” informed a police officer a woman broadcasting a online video from the curb, as he moved her a safe distance toward the pavement.

Insignificant Happenings and Lots of Expecting

Naturally, some occurrences did happen, though very little of major importance in the grand scheme. Individuals yelled things at each other. Debates erupted over Gaza. Enthusiasts displayed flags and brandished placards. A man in a campaign merchandise consumed a pickled egg from the fish and chips store and grimaced. Television runners hurried up and down Castle Hill ferrying beverages to on-screen talent. Drizzle drizzled.

Windsor was a sea of people observing other people watch things, all at once comforted by their physical proximity to the primary occasion and dismayed by their failure to change it.

Water Patrols and Surprising Local Fauna

“We are ready for anything that will take place on or around the water,” stated Sgt Lyn Smith, leader of a collaborative marine unit from Thames Valley and Hampshire police. While the presidential party approached Windsor, almost the only thing taking place near the water was a swan taking a dump.

A Festival Designed for Minimal Public Interaction

Certainly, this festival of nothing was partly integral to the plan, the natural result of a state visit whose guiding principle was to prevent any possible contact with actual people. While Trump and King Charles inspected the guard, the crowd outside was left totally to its own resources. Little tip: if you tell a Trump enthusiast that his huge flag only has 49 stars on it, he’ll still be checking them half an hour later.

Broadcast Attention and the Search for Material

Even so, everyone was here and the media was recording, so how was everyone going to fill their broadcasts? A leading broadcaster seemed to spend most of the morning airing aerial shots of the castle. “The main news today, stone building remains upright.”

“Observe some precipitation on the camera there, and rain obviously has an impact on flying,” a commentator filibustered on a television network in an attempt to explain why Trump’s helicopter was still had not taken off. Obviously some other distractions was needed.

The Superfans Take the Spotlight

Step forward: the hardcore enthusiasts. And they are never in limited quantity at events like these, drawn like moths to a press area, obligingly filling lengthy periods of dead airtime with their behaviors. There was a guy dressed from head to toe in UK and US flags. There was a woman with a muzzled alsatian wrapped in a campaign apparel. There was a guy who had spent two days painting a picture of Trump as a caveman, 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 encountered a eager listeners among the itinerant correspondents eager for material, any copy, any kind of colour.

One understands how quickly what passes for public sentiment in this country is shaped by the loudest – and by extension the most eccentric – people.

A Magnet for Outcasts

Perhaps it is certain that any spectacle will attract a few characters. But this does also seem to be a quality very unique to Trump: the unerring ability to attract outsiders and misfits wherever he goes. To be honest: Trump himself is just a very unusual guy, the kind of individual you imagine would come from an regrettable nuclear accident involving a large block of orange cheese. And in a sense his entire time in office has been a kind of bat signal to the unsatisfied, the gullible, the interested in plots, the less than conscious. Outcasts of the world, unite. We gather at Windsor at daybreak. Put on whatever you like.

Local Reality Makes Itself Known

Dignitaries. Police. Journalists. The Hampshire and Berkshire branches of the Trump fanclub. 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 shouting at each other.” And it’s possible there is something about this place that elicits the role-playing 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 truth were we really hoping to find here?

Actual life does still intervene, if you pay close attention. A little distance from the madding crowd, a couple of local civic-minded councillors were giving away leaflets. Improve our parks and playgrounds. Fix broken streetlights. Deal with “eyesores”, whatever they are. This is the politics 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 point across. “We’re about looking after people, repairing things, taking care of communities,” says Mark Wilson of the Eton and Castle ward. “But that’s not what draws attention.”

The Aftermath of the Spectacle

Inside the grounds, men in unusual headwear were playing wind devices. The feasting setup in St George’s Hall was being set. 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 divide between these worlds, far more profound than a castle wall, worlds temporarily close but perpetually separated.