The man that brings the trolley around is Indian and his name is Govinda. As he walks up the stairs to put fresh milk in our fridge and my soup on my desk, the little bell that he carries tinkles (you can see it in his right hand below) and I hear it so I start shouting out "Yay it's Govinda, Govinda is here everybody". The men I work with get cross because my lunch is hand delivered and they have to walk downstairs and choose theirs from the trolley. They say it's discrimination. I tell them its because no one likes them.
I needed breakfast one morning and I rang the chef to see what was on the menu, but he said I can make you whatever you like. I said I would like a surprise for breakfast and he said he would get Govinda to deliver it. When Govinda arrived I made my usual fuss over him and my special delivery, he even wrapped it up for me. His 'bon bon' contained a ham, pineapple and egg muffin.
