I met the man once at a fundraiser. He was quite charming to begin with, albeit absolutely tired. But he spent a fair amount of time after the camera crews were gone sitting a talking with various people from all walks of life. He and I have a keen fascination with stamp collecting so we had a good laugh over the differences between the 1992 39p Welsh Sheep in Snowdonia and the 1986 17p Lightbulb commemorative ones. I pushed a little too far by bringing up Liz's 60th Birthday one from that same year which earned a gasp from his handlers, but he actually took it humourously!
Anyway, after the lights had dimmed and people were shuffling away he approached me near the chocolate fountain, where I was paper plating up some take home marshmallows, and he said to me "listen hear you little shit, if you ever talk to me like that again I'll fecking end you. I just need to snap my fingers and your head will turn into a cluster of jam textured chunks, you fecking Jock cnut." Then he lit a match off my beard stubble, sparked up a Regal King-size and said "Now, feck off pleb." before turning into his true vampire bat form and flying into the night sky to satiate his hunger for human blood.