Lunchtime the factory tea-room bustles with activity.
Workmen rest and chatter, cutlery clinks, paper lunch bags rustle, steam escapes from the urn.
‘Hey, Bert, I’ve put your container in the microwave to warm up,’ shouts Tom to his mate.
‘You shouldn’t have, Tom.’
‘It was no trouble.’
‘It is for me mate, I’ve got salad!’