on going to collect my 2-year-old from inside the inflatable kingdom
Stepping inside is nothing like stepping inside the Basilica Santa Maria della Vittoria. Four-hundred-year-old walls don’t seal in the coolness, instead three-hour-old plastic walls make raucous with heat. There is no incorruptible body of Saint Victoria reclining on two red velvet cushions, but there are the reclining forms of children who have decided to flop and let their bodies ride the puffy breakers. Their eyes are similarly rolled back, their milk teeth just peeping under parted lips. The ceiling isn’t richly frescoed with lowering clouds. There are no white marble putti looking down on us from above, only half-peeling cartoon clowns, trembling with motion.
There is no levitating Saint Teresa in ecstasy, just a 2-year-old curled crying in the corner.
Rich Giptar lives in the UK and is just starting out with the business of submitting writing to places. They are very nostalgic for all the fairs that won't take place this summer. Find them on Twitter @RichGiptar.