Never before in its long and distinguished history had the No 10 bus from Windsor to Staines been given such a greeting. Guarded by police, tracked by worldwide media, the orange single-decker trundled majestically up Windsor’s central avenue, while bystanders stretched to see of the single elderly passenger inside. “It’s not him,” remarked one man, somewhat pointlessly.
An Event of Plenty of Excitement About Very Little
That day proved one of those days on the banks of the Thames: plenty of enthusiasm over very little, a distraction that felt mainly secondary to the ceremony taking place within the sealed castle grounds. “Regrettably nothing’s going to occur, madam,” advised a police officer a woman filming a Facebook Live video from the edge, as he directed her further back toward the pavement.
Small Events and Plenty of Anticipating
Naturally, a few events actually occur, albeit very little of significant impact in the wider picture. Individuals yelled comments at each other. Debates erupted over Gaza. People waved flags and brandished placards. A man in a campaign merchandise ate a pickled egg from the chip shop and winced. Television crew members rushed up and down Castle Hill bringing flat whites to broadcasters. A misty shower continued.
The scene turned into a sea of people viewing other people watch things, simultaneously reassured by their close location to the main event and frustrated by their inability to change it.
Marine Units and Unforeseen Nature
“We stand prepared for whatever may occur that will take place on or around the water,” stated Sgt Lyn Smith, head of a collaborative marine unit representing Thames Valley and Hampshire police. While the dignitaries neared Windsor, pretty much the only thing occurring near the water was a swan taking a dump.
A Festival Designed for Reduced Public Interaction
Of course, this festival of nothing was partly baked into the design, the expected outcome of a state visit whose guiding principle was to steer clear of any imaginable contact with the general public. While Trump and King Charles reviewed the guard, the crowd outside was left entirely to its own amusements. A small hint: if you tell a political fan that his large flag only has 49 stars on it, he’ll still be counting them half an hour later.
News Attention and the Search for Storylines
Nonetheless, the crowd had assembled and the media was recording, so how was all present going to use up their programs? A leading broadcaster seemed to spend the bulk of the day airing aerial shots of the castle. “The lead item today, stone building remains upright.”
“Observe some drops of rain on the camera there, and rain clearly has an impact on flying,” a commentator spoke at length on Sky News in an attempt to explain why Trump’s helicopter was still had not taken off. Obviously some different amusements was necessary.
The Superfans Come Center Stage
Come forth: the superfans. And they are never in low numbers at events like these, attracted like creatures to a journalist gathering, willingly filling lengthy periods of empty broadcast slots with their behaviors. There was a guy dressed 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 creating a picture of Trump as a caveman, carrying King Charles on his back like a baby. There were people outside the retail outlet having heated arguments about the interpretation of genocide. All found a eager listeners among the itinerant correspondents desperate for content, any copy, any kind of interest.
One understands how readily what is considered viewpoints in this country is influenced by the most audible – and by extension the most unconventional – people.
A Draw for Misfits
Maybe it is inevitable that any show will attract a few eccentrics. But this does also seem to be a trait very unique to Trump: the consistent ability to attract misfits and eccentrics wherever he goes. To be honest: Trump himself is just a very odd guy, the kind of person you imagine would come from an unlucky nuclear accident involving a large block of orange cheese. And in a sense his entire leadership has been a kind of beacon to the discontented, the trusting, the intrigued by theories, the semi-sentient. Outcasts of the world, unite. We gather at Windsor at daybreak. Don whatever you like.
Local Reality Makes Itself Known
Monarchs. Police. Journalists. The Hampshire and Berkshire branches of the Trump enthusiast network. Was there anyone here at all typical? “Not in Windsor,” snorted the girl behind the bar of the Horse and Groom. “They’re all too busy arguing at each other.” And perhaps there is something about this place that elicits the cosplay in everyone, a royal seat with a town grudgingly attached, a kind of Potemkin England with its waves of flags and souvenir stores, a fantasy to sell the tourists. What sort of truth were we really expecting to experience here?
The real world does still intervene, if you pay close attention. A little distance from the madding crowd, a couple of local Liberal Democrat councillors were handing out leaflets. Improve our parks and playgrounds. Replace broken streetlights. Deal with “grot spots”, whatever they are. This is the policy that actually affects people’s lives, far closer at any rate than some American president sitting in a traditional vehicle that nobody can see. But they’re having a difficult period getting the information across. “We’re about looking after people, addressing things, looking after communities,” says Mark Wilson of the Eton and Castle ward. “But that’s not what draws attention.”
The Aftermath of the Event
Within the grounds, men in distinctive caps were playing musical equipment. 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 campaign cap had entered Wagamama to grab some teppanyaki. And it was difficult not to sense the chasm between these realities, far thicker than a castle wall, worlds momentarily nearby but eternally separated.
