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"Who are you?" demanded the Pormafink, so I told him truthfully,
"I'm a cheesemaker." Well, it used to be true.
"You produce it in a factory or on a loom?"
"It's food."
"Ah, you plant, tend, harvest."
"Cheese is not a vegetable."
"You're a farmer." Twitching his delicate nostrils, the Pormafink smiled condescendingly but let me go. His mistake.
The TARDIS has a cheese room. I dropped a load of limburger on him. Made it myself; I've got a degree in that. He'll have to eat his way out; he won't be bothering you anymore, except perhaps with his breath.