something small

Spite is a state, but not a state affair.

That's why the docuseries

hasn't remotely achieved the impact that

.

For this reason and because its protagonist has not suffered her pain in silence as Rocío Carrasco had done.

How can we forget —to choose one of his television interventions— that confrontation between Gil and Muñoz in

, refereed by the same Santi Acosta who moderated the debate that accompanied the docuseries last Friday.

More information

The Rocío Carrasco series: the exclusive of abuse camouflaged as a documentary

No minister will enter any program to talk about the matter.

There is no possible harangue before the testimony of a prisoner released for health reasons who adds to his well-deserved sentence his own shame for having lost his head over Isabel Pantoja —he should console himself, bad for many…—, and gets on the bandwagon of the poor devils who appear manipulated by skilled lovers (okay, sometimes it's a matter of state).

The former mayor of Marbella added to his crimes the kitsch of the diary he wrote in prison to mitigate his obsession with his beloved. He read aloud some fragments, it is not known if only for money or also as penance —"that they publish my sin and the sorrow that devours me"—. Phrases full of diminutives, both in his notebook and in the letters he sent her: "My gypsy girl", "My little boy", "Do you keep your little body for me?". Mecano already sang it, with forgiveness from OT, "Cariñitos have always seemed like a fagot to me, and now I speak to you in diminutive, with cake names." Superlative diminutives that belong to that intimate language that each couple creates and that dies with it. It makes Julián want to sing to him, not for Pantoja, but for Agnetha: “Chiquitito, you know very well that sorrows come and go and disappear”. At least the jail ones.

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