In reply to jon:
Jon, we were messing around (like you do) on this little crag (Penya Roca?) on the Costa Blanca a few years back. There was a caravan parked just below the crag. Suddenly the door flew open and this huge, shaven-headed dude with his bloody huge dog emerged. Definitely a Fistful of Dollars moment! Now I'm not fazed by much but this guy looked f*cking terrifying. Woops. Run up the white flag. Or maybe it was too late... cos he was headed straight for us.
For some odd reason, my mate, who hitherto had shown a strange inclination not to leave the ground, suddenly seemed to recover his mojo and shot upwards at a tremendous rate. I was stuck belaying him and thus going nowhere in a hurry. Mr Decidedly Scary marched straight past me (err, in his bare feet) and proceeded to head up a 7a, with really shitty rock, sans corde. Bloody hell, I thought, if anything comes off, it's gonna hurt. Meanwhile my mate had ground to a halt on a greasy, smeary bulge. Mr Scary quietly informs him (in impeccable, albeit decidedly Teutonic English), "Your route - the grade is... not so nice."
"What's he effing saying?" "It's a sandbag, dickhead, that's what he's saying." "Ooh." Slumps on rope.
I do believe that was our passing acquaintance with the gentleman. Who was an utter gentlemen. I hope he goes safely out there.
Best wishes,
Mick