Like every Monday, on October 30, I opened the computer ready to type for this newspaper.
It had just been announced that Ana Belén and the Javis would present the Goya, so I decided to dedicate the column to them.
I wrote—sorry for the self-quote—: “Making the Goyas is a poisoned gift.
And no gift.
Every year, those of us who follow it put our (little) faith that it will turn out well, but almost always things end up, being benevolent, that way.
It's like falling in love.
It does not depend only on one—not even if it did.”
Even so, the announcement of their names—that's what the text was about—was a reason for hope: “But if anyone can land on their feet, it's the Javis and Ana Belén.
In the end, it's like falling in love.
“Sometimes it works out.”
Hours after I submitted that column and hours before it was published I received a call.
It was Ángel Custodio, from Gestmusic.
He offered me to be part of the script team for the Goya gala.
The Javis had recommended me, I can never thank them enough.
I wouldn't do it alone, but I still couldn't tell me who else with, the Academy had to approve us.
I had never written a gala, I knew I needed someone around who did.
My dream partner was Pilar de Francisco.
I didn't know her personally, but her wonderful work at the Feroz galas endorsed her.
A week later, I received another call: confirmed.
And my partner would be Pilar.
At that point I began to fantasize about asking heaven for a million euros and extending her hand in case a check fell to me.
But I liked something better, one of the most rewarding experiences of my life.
A few meetings and offshoots later, the first script reading arrived.
Knowing Ana Belén, that privilege.
And the vital lesson that it has meant to see one of the most talented women I have ever had close to her live with her own insecurity.
And in the blink of an eye we were in Valladolid.
The rehearsals, the gear, the countdown.
The Javis began the Goyas fantasizing about their dream gala.
I was looking at mine.
Just like when they paid tribute to the galas they saw from their home, the same ones that fueled my vocation as a screenwriter.
I was completely wrong: it was not a poisoned gift, it was one of the most beautiful of my life.
In the end, it was like falling in love.
Sometimes it turns out well.
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