There’s a waiter who works in San Pedro called Mr Grumpy. Actually, his real name is Diego. Yesterday, in the middle of the lunchtime rush, he picked up a chair and threw it about 4 metres at some pigeons across the laneway, to the collective gasp of those nearby. An Americano lady had the audacity to say to him: “but they’re part of nature”, at which point he turned to her, made a cut-throat sign across his neck, and muttered something in Spanish I couldn’t understand, but I’m sure it was “death to all pigeons (and you’re next Ms Americano if you don’t shut up)”.

We’ve dined with Mr Grumpy twice now. It’s become our personal mission to win him over. Yesterday, I managed to get him to pose with me for a photo. I think he’s smiling (maybe it’s a grimace).

Mr Grumpy’s tapas bar is in San Pedro, a vibrant little beach side village about 2kms from Puerto Banus. It’s a lovely 40 minute walk along the coast to get there.

My personal Spanish juxtaposition is the range of walk-able destinations (within 10kms) and my desire to wear high heeled boots – the two not being mutually compatible, especially with all the crazy cobbled streets. The perfect solution is for me to put on the aforementioned ridiculous boots and catch the local bus, while Ross walks. I’m a bit proud of myself for a) finding the bus stop b) figuring out the timetable and c) catching the right bus to the correct destination.  I love the chaos and authenticity of the local bus, alive with the buzz of Spanish conversation as it follows its circuitous route.

Ross loves to walk (and I’m sure he enjoys the peace and quiet – although I bet he misses the way I constantly point out all the cute dogs, hahaha). Actually, I have perfected the phrase “Mira Rosco, un perro. Es bonito” (look Rosco, a dog. It’s pretty). There are many essential words you need in Spanish – but these are not any of them!

So we made our separate ways to San Pedro, and meet for lunch (yesterday, it was at Mr Grumpy’s)! In San Pedro, the narrow streets are packed with intriguing small shops, sidewalk cafes and bars. It’s old and authentic and typically Spanish – not glitzy like Puerto Banus.

Mr Grumpy brings us meatballs in tomato salsa and a dish of cold tomato, tuna & onion which we cover in olive oil and balsamic vinegar (it’s one of my favourite dishes). Of course, the obligatory bowl of olives and basket of fresh-baked bread are there too (these things just magically appear whenever you order a drink). I really want to order another glass of wine, but being only seconds after the chair throwing / pigeon episode, I was too scared!

A group of three women ask Mr Grumpy if they can move the table from the shade (next to us) to the other side of the laneway, in the sun.  “NO” he says curtly, and turns on his heel. The women just stand there, mouths agape, and I can tell they want to move the table anyway. But they think better of it, put their jackets on, and just sit down. In San Pedro, Mr Grumpy’s word is law.

A few days ago, funnily enough, at Mr Grumpy’s, we meet Irene and Bob. They are sitting at the table next to us. I leave Ross alone for all of 2 minutes, and by the time I come back, he is deep in conversation with them and has bought them a round of drinks! They are Scottish and Irish, retired, own a three-bedroom unit in San Pedro, and live there about 6 months of every year (as they have done for 16 years now). We now know everything (almost) there is to know about living in Spain, the various costs of holding property, getting residency, plus we have the name of an English speaking lawyer and accountant in Malaga. Handy huh?

We walk back to Irene and Bob’s apartment for a look around (it overlooks a golf course), drink wine and eat cheese (as you do) and spend a lovely couple of hours with them.  Bob and Irene tell us that the Spanish word for RETIREMENT is jubilación (jubilation – what a wonderful word, and so apt)!! And that my friends, is one of the many reasons why #ILoveSpain