OUR ABOGADO JAVIER

No account of our life in Spain would be complete without mention of our Abogado Javier. In order to grasp the measure of this man one has to purge one’s mind of the images of stuffy Edinburgh or London lawyers – or Madrid lawyers for that matter.
You know the type – as soon as you walk in the door there is the unmistakable ting of a timing device, recording the minutes of your visit which will comprise the greater part of your ‘fee note’ (no vulgar bills for these guys) the lesser part being an indefinable factor called sundries.

Javier carried out the conveyancing for our house here. He met us in a short sleeved shirt with his tie dangling from a hat rack in the corner – in case he had to go to court. We talked of Scotland, Ireland, modern Spain and UK politics. We then slipped off to a local café for drinks and tapas.

We later had problems with a leaking pipe. Javier called his plumber Diego for us. When we needed a kitchen improvement, Javier drove the 25k to our house to meet with Diego to allow him to measure up. (We were in Scotland, packing up). When Bernice said she wanted to work in Spain, Javier offered her some hours in his office. When we expressed the desire to be fluent in Spanish and asked about classes, he said he would give us coaching. In return we improve his English. So we began weekly classes where we presented to each other in the appropriate language and made corrections after each delivery. So far working very well – apart from hiatus mentioned in earlier blog. When we asked about sourcing firewood, he invited us to his finca. There he loaded our Berlingo with Holm Oak; after which he showed us round his finca, introducing us to his chickens, geese, ducks, dogs and cats. On departure he insisted we take a bag of freshly laid eggs.
We regularly meet in the street - Herrera del Duque is a small town – and even if he has ten minutes, he insists we have coffee or a glass. We meet his wife Mimi and though we only met a day or two ago it is kisses all round – both cheeks, unlike the meagre UK one (if any). As for shaking hands - every day is like a Scottish Ne’er Day. Guys you only spoke with that morning, like an old pals reunion. And always time for a chat and a laugh. We think our Spanish is crap but we keep being told it is the perro’s cojones.
Whether flattery or no I cannot say but I think it is because we really make an effort also no whore speaks any English whatever. Even the kids who learn it in school soon forget it because here in the sticks, there is no opportunity to practice. One term the kids seem to love is “Bye Bye” – it sounds so silly in a Spanish accent. Mind you its not all that attractive in English

Can’t imagine the likes of David McLetchie who slowly bled the taxpayer for his personal travel and other expenses, being so enormously hospitable and unmercernary as our Javier, For balance, everyone we meet here in rural Spain simply cannot do enough for us. There is a culture of wanting to please – so absent in most UK transactions. Gifts, drinks, time, patience all given with a grace from a different era.