Intolerant of lactose intolerance

After a long day in the office when I'm in London, I like nothing more than a beer and a bite to eat before heading to King's Cross for my train home. Last night was no exception - a bottle of Sam Smiths Pale and a plate of stifado (stop smirking at the 'stif' bit - it's Greek beef stew, and very tasty it was too). The problem with dining alone at just after 6.00 is that you get the full-on Billy-no-mates treatment, with waiters tucking you away in a corner at a table for two, but I'm used to it by now and rather like the solitude. Except for my fellow lone diner. He arrived just after me and ordered bolognese - in a Greek restaurant?? Anyhow, he then told two waiters that no cheese should be offered or indeed sprinkled as he was 'lactose intolerant'. No problem, I thought, taking a few draughts of Tadcaster's finest. But he then went on to proclaim his intolerance every time a waiter drew close or asked him if he would like anything else. Offered a coffee by the head waiter, he then went on to describe exactly how ill he would be if perchance he did ingest dairy products. Way too much information, nearly baulked on my stifado (I've told you before, it's a well-known dish, oh grow up...).