Chronicle of Sunday 19 July

Parents, grandparents, benefactors and all the other long-suffering readers who follow us every day with more faith than we have for getting up early.

Today, Sunday, we got up —miraculously— at six in the morning, the hour when all of Paris is asleep except us, and we celebrated Mass with great solemnity in this beautiful Rupnik chapel. Fr Joan spoke to us about the Gospel and encouraged us to be saints, and he finished off the homily with a shot straight to the conscience: “If we are not saints, we have failed in this life”. No anaesthetic. He has a point, though at half past six in the morning these truths weigh twice as much.

After a hearty breakfast with pastries —a Sunday privilege that some took as an all-you-can-eat buffet—, we headed into Paris. At 10 on the dot, with punctuality more Swiss than French, we did the spiritual reading and at 11 we entered the Louvre ready to cultivate minds and hearts in the modest space of two hours, which is how long it takes to see 0.3% of the museum. At this rate, to see the whole thing we would have to go back about 55 more times. Parents, you can start saving now.

Some went to the Greek antiquities, others straight to the Mona Lisa, which we contemplated... along with some four hundred other people taking selfies. They say she smiles enigmatically; we think she has simply been putting up with tourists for 500 years and is laughing at us by now.

It was a morning of intense culture, each of us with our audio guide stuck to our ear as if it were the score of tonight’s match.

And here comes the scene of the day: Fr Ferran, who was with Alejandro, saw a group of girls gazing at a painting with genuine devotion. They looked, listened to the audio guide, smiled, commented. Our man, intrigued by so much artistic fervour, discreetly went over to see which masterpiece was arousing such interest... and, when he saw it, he couldn’t believe it: he burst out laughing like a madman. We can’t tell you which painting it was. Use your imagination. Or better not.

After the Louvre we ate sandwiches made with genuine French baguette, none of your sliced bread. Alejandro, true to his reputation, couldn’t make do with just one; rumour has it his parents have an investment fund set aside exclusively for feeding him.

In the afternoon, a two-hour cruise on the Seine taking in the most beautiful sights of Paris: the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre (this time from the outside and without an audio guide), Place Vendôme and Notre-Dame, all without falling into the water, which is quite an achievement. Especially considering that someone was leaning over the rail as if the Seine were a swimming pool.

Back home we prayed the Holy Rosary and had exposition of the Blessed Sacrament and meditation. They insisted that to be a saint you have to fight with the help of grace and be yeast in the dough, transforming the world from within. Profound, yes, although some were already thinking only about the yeast in tonight’s pizzas.

Because yes: we had pizza and beer for dinner as spiritual preparation for the big event of the night: the final.

We’re sending you the chronicle before the match ends because, whatever the result, afterwards we might not be in the right frame of mind to write it. Now, bed after the match. May the best team win. And may the best team be Spain, obviously. Except for Fr Joan, who wants Messi to win... We will pray for his conversion.