Standing high up on the cathedral roof, Justo Gallego Martinez can’t hear what I’m saying without crouching down and turning his head against the wind. He’s still unable to hear, so he gestures towards a rickety old ladder which leads up on to the roof, and I clamber up to find him in the same stooped position as before. Keeping low to the tiles, I cautiously edge my way over as he watches with mischievous amusement.