Donald MacInnes: I'm no grass - but this is a lawyer I'm talking about

I'm no grass. Growing up in Glasgow, the only crime worse than not growing up in Glasgow was being a grass. Or, in the Scottish vernacular, "clipe". (*Point of order: the Scottish vernacular should in no way be confused with the Scottish funicular, which is the railway system which transports Andy Murray to the top of his pile of tennis money.)

Anyway, back to keeping schtum. As in the playground and the prison yard, it is just not done to grass someone up, no matter what they have done to you. Even if someone has (to quote Billy Connolly) knelt on your belly button and battered you with a hammer for a fortnight, you're going to have to deal with it yourself. You can certainly get back at your assailant in kind, but report him to the authorities at your peril. Justice should wear a satisfied smirk, not a badge.

And never is this more pertinent than when it comes to matters financial. Handily, I have a case study in my pocket which will do quite nicely as a tool of persuasion. (*Point of order: never use the words "tool of persuasion" to someone from Glasgow. They will assume you mean a Stanley knife.)

Anyway, back to the case study. My wife and I have been royally shafted during the conveyancing on our house purchase by our solicitor, who made us question the very acumen of the legal profession; she basically lowered the very bar I am amazed she ever passed, if I may be so punny.

Not only did this model of ineptitude repeatedly fail to return our calls during the process, but when the final title deed and land registry form were sent to us, she had managed to spell my surname incorrectly three different times. Now, if my surname was similar in length and complexity to Apu's from The Simpsons, namely, Nahasapeemapetilon, I could possibly understand the odd typo. But really, if you are being paid a grand to check a couple of forms and make sure every detail is correct, I have absolutely no leeway left to grant.

Believe it or not, two days before we were due to complete our purchase, our mortgage adviser called in a right old panic, alerting us to the fact that Barclays weren't keen on financing so much as a Wendy house if the name of the purchaser didn't match the one they had on the big cheque.

I can hardly blame them. And I say that about a bank which, regular readers will be aware, provided the location for the only time I have ever been arrested, during an anti-apartheid sit-in at their main Glasgow office.

So, I say this to lawyers everywhere. We already think you are massively overpaid for what you actually do. Don't give us any more reason to be scornful about the trough into which your nose is shoved. And while the fact that I am no clipe will mean I am unlikely to ever name names and out you in a national newspaper, don't push it…

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