There are certain peculiar cultural phenomena specific to Spain. One such oddity is La Tuna. Going back to the year 1538 we find explicit references to these students’ groups, usually of scarce economic means, who, in order to fund their studies, would go into canteens and taverns, attired in their capes, singing and playing their guitars, mandolins and tambourines. They would usually sing love songs, intended to seduce innocent music loving females. Each love conquest would be marked by hanging a coloured ribbon on their capes. It would probably be impossible to complete a faithful description of the idiosyncratic Spanish imaginary without including an image of La Tuna, half inebriated, disrupting the peace of respectable sleeping neighbours with their heartfelt songs.

Is there anything worse in this world than coming across La Tuna in a bar? Yes, there is: to own a cup with an animated Tuna member attached to it, who, every morning, when you are having your coffee, sings you a love song. This cup does indeed exist, and we can see it in action in Jarrita. On screen we see someone having their breakfast. On the cup, the face of the tuno has been replaced by that of a woman, who repeats one of the melodies with which La Tuna usually abuses our ears with.

Campanilla demonstrates once again her close but difficult relationship with objects; a relationship, that, as we’ve seen in other pieces such as Ejemplos Prácticos, is constantly growing. Campanilla remains obsessed with souvenirs, junk and things from the local one-pound shop.