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The moment you open your mouth to ask him a question, his whole face sort of zooms in on you, as if it were some vast, pink, blob-like security camera. He thrusts his head so far forwards that it’s almost pressed up against yours; his neck muscles throb like a bull’s. His eyes bulge, as if straining to get as close to you as possible. And they almost never blink. For as long as the two of you are talking, his cold metallic eyes focus ferociously on yours. It’s a pity he’s set his heart on becoming Chancellor, because he’d make a terrific prison guard.