We read an article in ARA about the new regulation that prohibits smoking on bar terraces, university campuses, and music festivals. The large photo illustrating the article, by Júlia González Grego, shows us three beings sitting on a terrace smoking. These three beings, who are hinted to be members of the discriminated-against, the guirior collective, are not the worst thing they do. One of them has taken off his socks (his feet must be sweating). By this I mean that if the waiter comes to the sock-wearer and tells him not to smoke, he won't care, if you'll allow the summery pun. On campuses and at music festivals, things will be even worse. Who will tell students (and professors) not to smoke on the grass? Who will administer justice? Some bikers in black jackets that say “Vaping Angels”?

We read in ARA that the spokesperson for Vox in the Parliament, Joan Garriga, and the spokesperson for the PP, Lorena Roldán, "have asked this Tuesday that the chamber officially receive the Spanish national football team and honor the World Cup champions", considering that it is a "shared joy" for all citizens. How lucky we are in life to have these two political heroes, who, unintentionally, agree for the common good, without thinking about partisanship.

We want a Catalan sports team, of course, like the Scots, because it's logical and because everyone aspires to a bit of banal nationalism. But we don't want politicians from one side to ask for it, because they put a flock of sheep to sleep, and the victimist tone and false "we demand" are much hotter. Nor do we want those from the other side to talk about Spanish uninhibitedness, because there can be no Spanish uninhibitedness with Franco's heir, "Felipe VI" (such was the name he wore on the shirt with which he watched the semi-final, so sadly) on the throne. Uninhibitedness means the usual, whether we're talking about football, trains, or the Mediterranean diet. Some have to put in the effort and others receive the Michelin star. I would like the teams to be requested by the clubs, the players, the members of those clubs. Those who would sing Els segadors with fervor, because it has lyrics, unlike the Spanish anthem. And it doesn't have them for one reason: it "used to" have them. In Spain, everything comes from before.

I really liked seeing the four members of the royal family on a sofa, dressed in the new Spanish national football team kit, watching the semi-final match and hugging each other from time to time. Do I understand that it must have been their living room? It wasn't a bar. They didn't invite friends, which is something you do when you're the one with the big TV and you pay for a subscription. I understand that the friends (of the two daughters or of the couple) must have preferred to go down to the bar. That's perfectly understandable. At the bar, there's something to eat and drink, and, if all goes well, they have air conditioning. On the other hand, at the Bourbons' there wasn't even a sad little plate of roasted potatoes or peanuts and not a can of hops, just some cheeses with a dramatic strawberry on top. There was no sign of a fan anywhere. Perhaps it was a ceiling fan.

As expected, the CJEU has validated the amnesty for Catalan political representatives, who were accused of terrorism (for pots with sulfate for plants or because it was in “the atmosphere”) and embezzlement (because during the referendum they used school electricity and toilet paper). The reaction of politicians has been very different, depending on their affiliation. The Catalan PP brought out Lorena Roldán and hid the portraits from above. Junts brought out Gonzalo Boye and Turull, not Puigdemont. Illa, from the Palau, made an institutional declaration in Catalan, Spanish, and English. Esquerra brought out Junqueras, who said he was looking forward to hugging Puigdemont either in Girona or Barcelona. On the other hand, Rufián, on X, said, after celebrating it, that “the PP and Junts speak, agree, and vote as never before”.

Maria, our wise woman of today, is 89 years old, but she looks many years younger (later we will see that all the members of her family seem much, much younger). Now, she has a vision impairment, and she can barely see, but, nevertheless, she cooks. “I have always liked to cook a lot, but, of course, I have had to give up many things, because I can’t see. I have a very big floor lamp, a desk lamp, is it called? And the fico inside the pot, to see myself in it, but I don't even see myself in that one. Then, I use my nose a lot, for roasts. When I smell it, I say, "that's already roasted," and the same with embers. I used to do it very differently, I used the pot, but not anymore, because I'm afraid ofescald me, because I don't see it. And I do it as I can..., but well, I manage. And they are delighted at my place".

The author comes from a lunch at the City Hall, where she was given a book by Colm Tóibín (the one dedicated to Barcelona) in a black, corporate bag. She has to go, right away, to La Central bookstore to explain, together with Ignasi Aragay, from the newspaper, "How to write an article". As she has very little time, and needs to, before explaining how to write an article, send what she has already written, she enters a Starbucks. She orders one of those coffees that cost as much as a gram of truffle or fentanyl and when they ask for her name – she always invents them to play solitary games – she says: "Pilar Rahola". The other day she said "Raffaella Carrà".

“Tito has died,” says one of the ladies who – it’s very funny to watch – are playing bridge in this pastry shop, half elegant, half decadent, the kind that has cold breaded meat sandwiches, wrapped up, and those little triangle-shaped sandwiches, the kind that the protagonists of The Importance of Being Earnest.

The Spanish Supreme Court rules “the use of Spanish in the signage of educational centers” supported by public funds cannot be excluded. In the ruling, therefore, an entire section of the document on the organization and management of educational centers (approved by the Department of Education in July 2022) is annulled, which stated that “the signage of the center's spaces is in Catalan, Occitan in Aran, and in Catalan Sign Language if applicable”. It annuls it (and thus shows us that what can be decreed by a government is useless) due to an appeal filed by the Assembly for a Bilingual School, and which the high court has “upheld”. I say “upheld” because that is what is said in legal language, but the polysemy in our language does not bother me.

The essential and beloved Àlex Gutiérrez explained, to the Stop..., that there is a boycott campaignagainst the adaptation of the'Odyssey by Christopher Nolan because Helen of Troy will be played by a black actress, Lupita Nyong’o. We have seen the series The Bridgertons, set in the 19th century, featuring actors of different races playing high society characters, during a period when this was not the case. The series features excellent actors from all over the world, allowing for sales on five continents. We have seen Hamlets starring women, which is a much more substantial change than race.

This chronicler always hated that Sabina song that pretended to be based on real events, Pacto entre caballeros, in which the singer explained in the first person that one night some very young thugs robbed him. “Subvenciónanos un pico”, they told him, so they were heroin addicts, and they stole –it was still counted in pesetas, the year the song premiered– “diez quinientas” and “a fancy Omega watch”. It was a "good" brand, but I don't know what Shakira would think of it. The fact is that the guys recognized him: “You look like that Sabina guy who sings”. Then, they took him to a brothel for a party, got high with him, and returned his belongings at the end of the night.

I call my friend Jordi Crusellas, who grows grapes for the Artés cooperative, in Bages, when I hear that his area has caught fire. He answers me, distraught, from the tractor, and immediately sends me a video of the flames licking his picapoll vineyard. The vineyard acted as a firebreak. And so it happened with the Empordà fires a few years ago, too: the vineyards (Garbet, from Peralada, Anna Espelt's...) were natural firebreaks. "I was stunned," he explains to me later, with a little more calm, "by how the flames jumped over the vineyard and continued on the other side. Thanks to the vineyard, the fire was not so virulent and aggressive".

Heading towards Catalunya Ràdio downstairs, from Ferrocarrils, through the alleyways, narrower than those in L'Eixample, which cross Muntaner street. Walking on the sidewalk, a gust of hot air propels itself towards my legs. And another. And another. At first, I don't understand. It seems like a sauna, one of those gym ones, when it starts up. Then, yes. It's the outlets of the air conditioners from the apartment buildings and shops, devices I imagine as furious dragons. The street I'm walking on, due to the thermal comfort of the interiors – comfort I envy and applaud – is like a boiling pot. All this heat that the roaring dragons spew must heat the street temperature by a degree or two. The other day, in ARA, they said that the heat is localized by neighborhood and that poorer neighborhoods suffer more from it, due to narrowness, ventilation... But they didn't take into account that in rich neighborhoods with many clothing stores there are air conditioners, and if there are air conditioners indoors, there is more heat outdoors, because we've reached the Moon, but we haven't devised a good system for expelling hot air. And so, the paradox arises that the more climate change, the more air conditioners we need, and the more air conditioners we need, the more climate change, and the more climate change...

When I imagined that love was eternal and that all couples would grow old hand in hand, not just the delicate, sweet, and admirable ones, and that one could do as in that song I liked so much ("we'll never sleep in separate beds"), the job of prime minister and wife, or queen and consort, traveling the world, going to boring events, seemed fun to me. "What a drag, today we'll inaugurate such and such a thing," I thought they must say, slyly, because they knew there would be a "dress up" for work, do it, bump into each other under the banquet table, and go to the hotel, finally, at night. Telling themselves "it's better than working."

I arrive at Plaça Espanya at two, with the Ferrocarrils from the Manresa line, and the tourist, returning from Montserrat, rushes down the escalators. We go out into the street. A blast of hot air. The solar heat is so intense that when you breathe it feels like the heat enters your lungs. The image of the square is completely different, because the streets are closed due to the Tour de France, which will pass through there, on the way to Montjuïc. Two men and a woman, dressed in yellow-volunteer, wait in the very weak and only shade of a canopy. They give me a map that says: “Grand Départ Barcelona 2026”, with the subtitle, “Everything you need to know to enjoy the 113th edition of the Tour de France 2026”. They explain to me that the Tour cyclists are expected to pass around five, and that before that there will be an advertising caravan. Since I arrived early, as the chronicler always follows Kapuscinsky's advice, I enter the shopping center with the idea of buying a notebook and a pen, and above all, of obtaining the necessary calories. Oh, air conditioning, I would dedicate an ode to you.

Melero was interviewed by restaurateurs from the Sagrada Família area. They complained that they had to close for the Pope's visit and now have to do it again for the cycling tour. A representative from La Piazzenza spoke, which is that place – I've had many pleasant meals there – where you can eat a pizza, a salad, or a Spanish omelette... The owner of a burger joint also spoke. They all pay very high rent, for being where they are, and a day without invoicing harms them. It's understandable.

The Minister of Territory, Sílvia Paneque, has presented the "first Railway Services Plan of Catalonia", which states it will organize and reorganize the railway system (and by extension, the mental health and family life of the beloved Antonio Carmona). I read that they will put on more trains, that they will double the kilometers of track, that they will rethink "the timetables, routes, and frequencies of Commuter, medium-distance, and high-speed trains", and that they want to implement "regular and repetitive timetables, easy for passengers to remember, along with the improvement and increase of frequencies throughout the network". And it all seems very good to us that they are moving forward. And that they put on trains, yes. However, that they want – as a plan – to implement repetitive and easy-to-remember timetables for passengers will keep me erotically charged from head to toe until I get my pink card.

With animus refrescandi, while reading ARA online, I stopped at the advertisement for an air-conditioner-that-isn't-quite-an-air-conditioner called Epi-cooler. Since they don't sell it in fan shops (which are having a great summer and July) but only sell it online, they tell you all sorts of things that make it irresistible if you're one of those people who still want to go to the shop. It has "a wall bracket included with plugs and screws" and a standard plug (down with droughts) of the brand or perhaps the Schuko model (1.8 m). And I was just about to order it without specifically asking for divine intervention, when I read that it also has a "Manual in Spanish (also understandable for people over 70)".

I'm reading an interview “with a bite”, the kind from Trini Gilbert in the ARA, at the Flash-Flash trout farm, with Karin Leiz, designer and writer, widow of photographer Leopoldo Pomés, who was a co-founder of the restaurant. The mother of the beloved Poldo Pomés says: “I learned to cook by going to the market and listening to what people said”.

The other day, at a social gathering (they call it baby shower and I haven't been able to sleep since), there was a mother with a small child in a stroller. She was next to me, so I could see how she was looking, all worried, at children's reels on her mobile phone (a phone the size of the middle slice of a rustic loaf). To spare myself the sight of the creature passing, with its little fingers, disturbing frogs with a narco accent, I made a joke. The kind of jokes you make to kids. Then the mother looked at me, condescendingly, and said: "You'll be a good grandmother." If my daughter made a joke to the same creature or said things to it, the deceased wouldn't tell her: "You'll be a good mother."