The president Sanchez Call Feijoorings the telephone in a gondola or bathtub, with a large rococo-style plug, like Sarah Montiel; He calls with his towel turban and cigarette with holder. Pink Panther or from Kill Hari, with its emergency call from a silent movie fireman or a whim in a hotel in Saint-Tropez, and, of course, the president must answer. The President calls with greedy insistence, like a boss who likes apples, or with authority between the military and the church, like a Colonel or the Pope who wants an egg boiled in water, as if it had been passed through by the Holy Spirit. President Sanchez calls, it sounds like a cannon shot, the ringing of a bell, the blow of a baton, and you have to answer him and introduce yourself as if he is calling you. Zeus or Florentino Perez. At least that’s what he said Calvinowho from the trigonometric head of the Spanish economy is about to become a pensioner in the Napoleonic gold baths of European banks, but first, of course, she wants to be the woman who rings the bell in Moncloa so that they come servants, ducks and Mr. Feijoo, who obviously must come with bath salts or with Sanchez’s flirting robe, which is cooling down there in the meantime.