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In my office, as a way of introduction to rest of the teams, was expected
to give an introduction in the language if my favourite author.

I chose P G Wodehouse and here is the write-up:

Govind – my man, you know – is really a most extraordinary chap. A man of extremely uncertain intelligence, and his general tendency was to think that whatever step he took in any direction on his own account, was just another proof of his innate idiocy. Once or twice, he showed an almost human intelligence. But to reach that stratum, mind you, he needed dynamite. Not quite the run of the mill BAs who are cadaverous looking people with pale melancholy eyes. Not in ANZ. No, Sire.

His principal source of preparing use cases, however, was derived from a principle he learnt when he was a banker – look backwards and go forwards. He’s a bit foggy as to what that means, but it's apparently something the populace is pretty keen on, for he had made quite a decent impression on those who are ‘down under’.

He is tolerably full of beans and manages to come up with a use case once in a while. Full of zeal, shimmering into meeting rooms, the chappie is rummy to a degree and invites people for reviews. When he spoke he showed about fifty-seven front teeth but they never convinced anyone.

He moves from alternative to alternative with as little uproar as a jellyfish.

The reviewers do not absolutely effervesce with joy, if you know what I mean. His nerves stick a yard out of his body during those blistering sessions. Especially when a certain devilishly efficient person draws in three lites of oxygen in one breath and when his brows rise two feet above his head like a rocketing pheasant.

Not to be out done, this lady interjects "Something about it makes my aesthetic taste kick like a mule," and settles down to some Petrafaction.

With the use cases shredded to smithereens and pen dripping blood he sidles towards his seat, thinking that reviewers do it out of pure cussedness. It is a grave situation for the blighty Govind chap - silence screaming like Big-Chief-Who-Can-Hear-A-Fly

-Clear-Its-Throat.

With renewed vigour he shows he is a man of few thousand words – most of them written. All great people are like that – Greg, Narell, Nisha, Petra, Sridhar, Raja, Steve, Janine, and myself. But what are words? Action is the thing. That is the cry. Action (Request). If that is Godfrey’s or Trevor’s forte, so much the better, for I fancy that action rather than words is what we may be needing in the space of about a quarter of a minute – until his documents are set right.

He’s bitten his tongue freely ever so often and dashed if he uses extends ever again, but when the business signs off it is occasion for the beaming smile and the joyous whoop.

"Cheers, mate!" he whispers faintly.

Due apologies to the blighter of a chappie – PG Wodehouse