On Sunday morning we read a story by Tolstoi, reading, in Basque: “How much land does a man need?” And he knows the drawings of Elena Odriozola because he saw them in the adventures of Gulliver, he enjoys the thread of the Tales. Then he gets into discotheque, often, and translated from Catalan by Alberdi who translated this last short story, we have danced with the accounts of Ena and identified the voice and trikitixa of Tapia, who knew of the album “Egon ala ez egon” (and he does not know, but also knows the words of Izagirre): Tapia is a stamina.

Izagirre has long heard the words of the motto he himself had brought to us, learned to say “What disgust!” with Astiz, and asks “today I want poems” if what he wants are joemas, the sounds of Bilbao or playing with the body with Igerabide. He knows what a dodo is and what his doubt is thanks to Astiz and Muguruza. He doesn't know, but he's creating his likes. In Lo potolo, Canorena points out in the index (not knowing how to read) first, that which formed him in the kitchen seas and deserts, and that of Bilbao, and that of Alberdi, and that of Lertxundi, asks Xola “it doesn’t matter if I don’t understand everything”, when he wants to be long. And as children also need occasionally something light, or adrenaline, the Super Potato waits. It is also awaited by Landa’s crocodile, symbol of the deepest layers of our brain, which will relate them to the stories of Dovstoyeski and Mrozek.

The Castellanas also enter our corner, we enjoy them. But what beautiful, what luxury, today to be a Basque child.