My take on day one of the Donald Trump State Visit after travelling with the President on Air Force One - Bev Turner

The security for this event was unlike anything anyone in the Press Pool had experienced. We had seen more x-ray machines than a senior radiographer by the time we were shepherded into the Windsor castle classroom.

Chat amongst hardened American journalists was the previous night's delights of the local Wetherspoons. "I walked in," said one secret service guy, "and thought this is the kind of place that has fights." I told him that secret service college education had not been a waste.

The air was damp, the skies over Windsor exactly as described by American Bill Bryson: "like looking upwards from inside a Tupperware box" but security was cast-iron: uniformed officers, snipers on distant rooftops, mounting drone patrols. It was clear from the outset that this would be no ordinary diplomatic visit.

I managed to do a piece into Britain's Newsroom using the best wifi that 1000 year-old castle walls can manage before we were led into the Windsor quadrant to await the arrival of Potus, Flotus and the Royal hosts.

Out of our sight, Marine One descended into the grounds. Donald Trump and Melania emerged - Melania composed and typically elegant but with a hat so over-bearing that people on social media speculated whether she was in a witness protection scheme.

Mr Trump on his best behaviour. They were met by Prince William and Princess Kate at the Walled Garden, before being formally received by King Charles III and Queen Camilla.

Suddenly they arrived - a flourish of horses, sparkling gold trim, feathered-hats and wooden wheels on gravel. It was truly breath-taking: guards in full dress, royal anthems played, the colours of Britain and America flying in tandem.

We larn that Mr Trump, upon greeting Princess Kate, said, “You’re beautiful, so beautiful” and although this is the sort of unabashed expression of feelings which makes some Brits squeamish, I for one, admire this willingness to speak his mind (plus, Kate might be a beautiful princess, but she is still a working as a mum-of-three who still does the school run and parent's evening so you can bet she doesn't get told such a truth to her face very often).

In terms of protocol, much was by the book: carriage processions through Windsor’s broad estates, inspection of troops, ceremonial music, and speeches.

But there were also murmurs, as always when Trump is involved, about whether convention was bent or frayed. Some nit-pickers looking for a definition of Trump that they can cling to gossipped that by walking ahead of King Charles during parts of the procession, he breeched protocol. From where I was standing, close to the King, he couldn't have cared less.

I suspect that he rather likes Donald Trump with his refreshing, braggadocious style of speech so different to the buttoned-up establishment figures with which he is surrounded.

Whilst the Royal party retired for a private lunch, we journalists had sandwiches and Robinson's squash in the normally public cafe. Fights for plug sockets ensued and Americans looked fascinated at the small triangle sandwiches on granary bread.

"I ate some," said one staffer, "But I have no idea what it was..maybe chicken?" I asked my fellow-White House press pass holder, Brian Glenn, famous TV host and partner of the legendary Republican Marjorie Taylor Greene what he thought of the Blackcurrant squash. "Squash?" He looked baffled. To Americans this is simply a root vegetable. After elucidation, he returned with a small glass, "Hmm...It's ok. Kinda strong."

Turns out the room was full of Americans politely drinking neat Robinson's cordial.

Like the world's weirdest school trip, we were then ushered out into the windy castle-grounds where we caught a glimpse of the party as they entered St George's Chapel (and I stole a quick hug from GBNews Royal Correspondent Cameron Walker who I have not seen for three weeks due to my recent stay in Washington).

Inside the chapel, there was a private wreath-laying service on the grave of Queen Elizabeth II and then The Trumps were treated to a stunning choral performance of Vivaldi by the young choir, resplendent in claret robes.

Then it was back to the holding room for proper english tea or instant coffee. Again, two nations divided by a common language was evidenced by their befuddlement at 'instant coffee' - an extremely rare phenomenon in America. I managed to stop one correspondent putting it in their tea as they thought it was demerara sugar.

Revived by tea (or tea plus coffee) and chocolate cake we were led out to observe The Beating Retreat. There had been some earlier crossed wires with the press being informed that this was from "Beating Retreat, a musical" so all became clear as British military bands appeared and Britain does what Britain does best: showing off the hard work of devoted military musicians drawing on 1000 years of tradition.

I was desperate to give The Royals and The Trumps blankets for their knees as the wind picked up and the air grew increasingly damp. "Oh look!" I expressed my surprise, "Keir Starmer is here!" The American press asked, "Who?"...Everyone knew that Thursday would be his day to shine at Chequers but nobody knew that he would make an appearance today. With Trump and The King on the dias, with him beside, the symbolism of power - or lack of it - was very strong.

Surreptitiously I watched the commentary on the GB News app - Martina Daubney and guests doing a great job of filling in the detail blanks which helped my American counterparts know the difference between The Massed Bands of the Royal Marines, the Coldstream Guards and the Royal Air Force.

After, Trump did what Trump does best: chatting to the crowds, including one young girl who I caught up with afterwards to find out what he said. "You have a very nice King," was Trump's private comment and she agreed that we did.

It was back to the holding pen for the press before being taken to the site of the State Banquet in St George’s Hall. This would be high formality, a long table, dignitaries, speeches and soft-power bridge-building.

Three days had been spent setting the table and we were allowed to walk around, but take no pictures and reveal no details until 8pm. I was fascinated to see the table plan. It tells so much about an occasion.

I sought out Larry Fink - Blackrock banker and interim Chair of the WEF: on one side, Home Secretary, Yvette Cooper. On the other, Dame Emma Walmsley, Head of Glaxo Smith Kline: Blackrock/WEF, the woman in charge of immigration and big pharma - what did they talk about? How to achieve The UN's Agenda 2030 perhaps? Digital ID? A borderless world sustained by cheap labour in which everyone's biometric ID is tied to their health status and mandated drugs? Who knows?

Labour's Chief of Staff Morgan McSweeney was sat beside Rupert Murdoch - desperate Labour mandarin meets media king-maker from whom he is desperate for help.

Chancellor Rachel reeves was beside Ruth Porat (Google) & Warren Stephens (US Ambassador).

On the day that they celebrate investment in data centres for Nvidia and Microsoft, Labour proved, yet again that they are the party of Transnational Corporations.

We have record small businesses and hospitality venues closing from crippling tax regimes. A generation of youngsters too despondent to get a job. Farmers are giving up.

Labour are so keen to swan about with globalists, they have forgotten about the small British businesses upon which this country's people thrive.

Of course, none of this featured in the speeches. We watched from a side room (same sandwiches as lunch but with fresh apple juice in wine glasses) as King Charles delivered a love-bomb speech to Trump, reminding guests of the “enduring alliance” between the countries, all within these ancient walls steeped in history. Trump responded in kind, describing it as a “singular privilege.”

Dresses, tiaras, medals, protocol - it was tradition on steroids.

The Princess of Wales looked soft, pretty and divine; Melania Trump looked fierce and sexy in yellow (so good to see her face after being hidden all day); Prince William measured and polished. Camilla carried herself with calm authority, but with that endearing, ever-present suggestion that she would rather be upstairs in her comfies with a gin and a cigarette.

It was a day for two countries, long intertwined, but currently in the grip of polar opposite politics, playing out their relationship under the public gaze. For many this will look like reaffirmation: “special relationship,” shared values, theatrical ceremony.

Today, we will all be in Chequers where politics takes over once pagentary ends. Questions remain—what agreements will follow? What tensions endure? And what differences were simply papered over in choreography, cloud cover and fine china?