Doña Sofia He has just been discharged from the hospital. I celebrate it because I’m no longer up for surprises. I had not recovered from the unexpected death of Jaime de Armiñanwhom I discovered at the same time as the multiplication table, and I was scared again when suddenly the news announced the hospitalization of Queen Emeritus Sofia for a urinary tract infection that, by the way, I wouldn’t know what it consisted of if it weren’t for the fact that I just looked it up in the dictionary.
The urinary tract, that is, the path that goes from the kidneys to the urethra, is a source of infections. According to doctors, they affect women more than men: things in life. Or whims of nature, if you prefer.
While half of Madrid was preparing the farewell to Armiñán, the famous director of films like My dear lady or the television series ConfidencesAt the Ruber International clinic, Mrs. Sofía (86 years old) asked not to be treated like a queen but like any other person hospitalized at the center. And she faced her ailments using a biblical patience that she had already been displaying, for other reasons, since she arrived in Spain recently married to the then prince. Juan Carlos de Borbón.
There, in that same clinic where the heiress was born Leonorurology specialists have worked hard to restore peace to the Queen’s urinary tract.
Little by little, some Madrid residents gathered around the Ruber in the hope of seeing Doña Sofía up close and even shaking her hand. Felipe VI He was the first to visit his illustrious mother and, upon leaving, answer the hasty questions of the sovereign people about his mother’s improvement. So be it.
Daniel Sancho
Daniel Sancho.
The secret trial (no “public view”) of the chef who has carried out one of the most macabre crimes in history, which is not a few, is taking place these days on the Thai island of Koh Samui. Someday we will see in the cinema the morbid details of the poisonous relationship between a young Spanish cook and a Colombian surgeon.
The emotional ties are intuited, but they are not clear. Quite the opposite. Daniel Sancho seems to hate Edwin Arrieta. However, in light of events, it would seem that Edwin loves Daniel. Although in his story, love and hate go hand in hand. It may be that one day the emotional relationship worked, but since the couple appears in the idyllic settings of Thailand, everything begins to change, and the hotel where they spend their last night smells like blood.
[Los difíciles días que vive Noela Aguirre, la abuela de Daniel Sancho: su estado y las ganas de que “su nieto vuelva”]
Daniel is tough and looks like he doesn’t mince words. Your parents, Silvia y Rodolfosuffer in silence as they wait for the trial, suspended for the Buddhist new year, to resume next Wednesday. His grandmother, the Uruguayan Noela Aguirrewho is a journalist and exerted great influence on her husband and three children (Rodrigo, Rodolfo and Félix) says these days with an aura of sadness: “I believe in justice, I believe in the gods and I believe in the truth of my grandson.”
His father’s name is Rodolfo Sancho, son of the actor Sancho Grace and godson of Adolfo Suarezwho was president of the Government when he sponsored him. Grandma Noela counts the time until she goes to visit her grandson, about whom she plans a sentence to the death penalty. Or prison for life.
Pirou Urquijo
Pirou Urquijo.
I am motivated by the “fascinating story of Piru Urquijo” (Jesús Carmona, April 6 in EL ESPAÑOL). Of all the aristocratic ladies who walk through Madrid, and not only at weddings, baptisms and communions, the smartest, and also the one who enjoys the most self-confidence, is Piru Urquijo. Summing up: Devil by Carmen and Urquijo by the Urquijos of a lifetime, although his real name is that of Carmen Fernandez de Araoz. The same one that lent its historic estate of “Los Molinillos” (described by Ernest Hemingway in For whom the bell tolls) for the recent wedding of the mayor of Madrid with Teresa Urquijo.
She is one of the most envied women in the capital. The one with the greatest number of “capriles” in the closet and the most weight of jewelry in the jewelry box. Everyone wants to invite her to their weddings so she can tell things about when she rubbed shoulders with Dalí, Robert Graves, Luis Miguel Dominguín and, of course, with Gregorio Marañónhis grandfather.
Everyone loves her at their events, but she only goes to the ones she can’t afford. This is the case of the last marriage celebrated in San Francisco de Borja, a church of sad memory because in it White Carrero He ascended to the heavens and Serrano Street went down in history.
Piru is the paternal grandmother of Teresa Urquijo, recent wife of the mayor José Luis Martínez-Almeida with whom you have just married. The wedding was attended by relatives and friends, two Sicilians and even three or four Bourbons.
Teresa Urquijo, the bride, allowed herself the luxury of wearing a wedding dress that had three positions. One, the premiere, which was carried out by the bride’s maternal grandmother. Two, that of the bride’s mother (Beatriz Moreno de Borbón-Two Sicilies). And three, that of the girlfriend and now wife of Mayor Almeida, with the occasional touch-up, as happens with inherited suits.
What had not been inherited was the tiara, among other reasons because on her wedding day, Teresa did not wear a tiara. Some knowledgeable lady commented quietly that in many noble families the tiaras have been sold or recycled to become necklaces or earrings.
The wedding ended with a chotis that at times seemed like a conga.
Juan Carlos de Borbón
Juan Carlos I.
I don’t know why we call him emeritus. We always deceive ourselves with metaphors, figurations and semantic breaks. In reality, Juan Carlos is the King, although we have deprived him of the exercise and, due to his lack of exemplarity, his place is now occupied by his son, Felipe VI, who for some reason has been going to the Campoamor theater in Oviedo since he was a child and giving speeches through a tube.
What I was going for. Felipe VI is the King, but today reminds us that Don Juan Carlos has returned and the monarchists put on a green tie and shout “long live the King” to celebrate the welcome.
We are in a time of reconciliation. I have been following in the footsteps of the Bourbon since he left Spain to undertake exile in Abu Dhabi and I must recognize, with a certain joy, that little by little we are reaching the end. In this last stage, the most relevant thing is the rapprochement between father and son, a rapprochement that became especially visible at the funerals of Elizabeth II of England and from then on.
[Los Reyes acuden a la misa de Fernando Gómez-Acebo: su primer acto con Juan Carlos en España en cuatro años]
At first the staging had its charm. If Juan Carlos turned his head to the left, Letizia turned it to the right and Felipe looked at the ceiling. It seemed nonsense, but it wasn’t. In two or three funerals, everything was settled. They looked at each other without needing to hide.
The Sanjenjo issue had its importance. It was the place on the map that gave the most play. The closest to the furthest. Or the other way around: the furthest from the closest. King Juan Carlos entered through Sanjenjo and ended up in Madrid, always surrounded by his sons (the Kings) and especially his daughters, the infantas.
The last event where the so-called King Emeritus was seen was at the wedding of the mayor of Madrid, which I have already covered at length. That day Juan Carlos de Borbón was splendid. Never since his anchorage in Abu Dhabi, even long before, had we seen him so smiling and looking so good. It deserves to settle in Madrid. Here he would gain power and make everyone happy.
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