Free screens in cars, now!

• My children and Princess Leonor

With five years I was visiting a family in a real town, one of those in Spain emptied where there are no doctors or banks, but there is always a bar. It was like what the children now do in a farm school with a fee, but for free. In that fascinating house there was a couple of pigs. The male was out of the way because he must be a careful stallion, like those easy crotch scales that cannibalize on Telecinco .

What I saw in those days is equivalent to a marathon of National Geographic documentaries. Without any censorship, I witnessed with stupor the transit of (1) a happy bird in its pen to (2) palmolive chicken in a potato stew. My aunt Pura was twisting her neck and plucking feathers without altering the gesture, while my eyes went out of the basins, as in the comics.

I saw the bristle give birth to half a dozen creatures (remember that I was in Parvulitos). I saw blood. I saw a placenta. If Mazinger Z had suddenly appeared around there saying good afternoon, it would have seemed like an ordinary thing, even a curse. The fact is that in that crap the smell was foul, there were a thousand flies per cubic centimeter and when the intense week of immersion in wildlife ended, I was glad to think that I would never be in such a cochiquera again. I was wrong.

I have a car. I have two kids. The combination is fatal. What is in my garage is a cross between a pigsty and a bazaar without a license. Before reproducing myself, there were, perhaps, some grains of sand shaving the mats; maybe, a bottle of water; Maybe, a fine on the windshield.

Now it is the wild West. The spouse, with a tolerance for disaster less than mine, is ashamed of the drift that our humble utilitarian has taken. He aspired to travel through the 40s with a convertible without a macula. What a drag.

In return, our minivan, epitome of my discreet proletarian condition, is a diverse quagmire. It contains broken biscuits , lamparones for the accidental intake of milkshakes -and their corresponding containers-, crumbs of Aspitos (an amalgam of worms created by the gods to calm the beasts) -and their corresponding containers-, dismembered toys, sucked candies .. I don't think a hitchhiker in the Gobi desert would want to get in here.

From time to time, the husband, cursing, takes out a handheld vacuum cleaner and, with his few watts, tries to combat this loss. For a couple of days it prohibits, relentless as a leader, to bring gossip and eat in the car , despite knowing - as you know - that it is an absurd battle.

It is common sense that to avoid tragedies on board, the airbag and ABS are as necessary as children's entertainments. And that includes a Lego of 30,000 pieces, stories, jelly beans and, of course, devices of all kinds without a giga available. Or, failing that, a data rate burst. All investment is small, although the acquisition of meat and fish goes into precautionary suspension for a quarter.

Because, the alternative of traveling to dry stick, with the car as an operating room, is reckless. Let the DGT say so. If behind an Intifada is unleashed; if the kicks fly behind ; if swear words are shouted behind ... If all that happens (and whatever happens), it is not feasible to attend traffic lights, or avoid pedestrians or draw curves as God commands.

The great car rides with my children (that is, from 25 kilometers ) terrify me. In the first roundabout, before even circling the city, they already ask how much is left, when we arrive, where the beach is, if there is Santa Claus . And, of course, they pee, and also the other, and we must stop and solve the urgency, even in a ditch, even if we are late, even if there is a storm.

It also happens that the creatures get dizzy, as if they were climbing on the Dragon Khan, with their loopings and with their everything. And sometimes it happens. I mean the worst that can happen in a car: shotgun vomit . It is better to eat a bollard, run out of gas, let the engine burn. Because there is nothing more definitive on a trip than a children's chapapote. Even if the car has a few months, you will have to sell it. The stench will never disappear, even if they upholster the upholstery, even if you water with bleach. Years will pass and when you open the door, you will be assaulted by that merciless tufo.

That is why I want to launch a plea, now that we have a bogged endowment and the house without sweeping: free installation of partitions in family cars, opaque and fat like the Chinese Wall. Of course it is the welfare state.

According to the criteria of The Trust Project