That nice Anton Du Beke is doing an impression of the younger Anton Du Beke in pre-Strictly days (which he calls 'TBS, Time Before Strictly').
It is quite terrifying. His jaw is clenched, teeth bared, eyes nearly popping out of his head. His expression is one of pure fury.
'I was an absolute lunatic,' he says, cheerily. 'In my competition days I was the polar opposite of the patient, charming person you see on Strictly. I was the least patient person you can imagine.
'I wasn't charming. I was out of control, a bit destructive to myself, to my dance partner Erin, impatient to win. I wanted it all, and five minutes ago. I should apologise to Erin, really.'
Anton du Beke (pictured with his wife Hannah and four-year-old twins) described himself as an 'absolute lunatic' in his competition days, saying he was 'impatient to win' and 'out of control'
Blimey. Why the angst? 'I think it stemmed from starting so late [he was a teenager when he began ballroom dancing].
'I wanted to be Fred Astaire but couldn't see how I'd get from a church hall in Sevenoaks, dancing a four step by the boys' toilets, to the silver screen.
'Everyone else on the competition circuit had started when they were three or four, and I was on the hurry-up. I was an outsider, never at the top table.'
Drum roll, though. He may have come to it late but Anton, 55, has arrived at the top table now.
When the Strictly lights go up this autumn, he will be on the judging panel. He never did get his hands on that glitterball trophy in 17 years as a professional dancer on the show, but has now landed an arguably more significant prize.
He can thank the pandemic. He was catapulted onto the panel during the last series, when judge Motsi Mabuse was stranded in Germany (he received a call the night before).
This year, as restrictions make it impossible for Bruno Tonioli to commute between the U.S. and UK, he will have his own seat for the whole series.
It is hard to think of a more popular appointment. Anton is the only dancer who has been with the show since it started in 2004, and one of only three of the original line-up ('it's just me, Craig and Tess,' he says).
When the Strictly lights go up this autumn, Anton (pictured) will be on the judging panel. He never got his hands on that glitterball trophy in 17 years as a professional dancer on the show
He is Mr Strictly in many ways, a master of that delicate balance between the slick, sparkly and silly.
Like Strictly, he doesn't take himself too seriously — but he takes the business-of-show very seriously indeed. Little wonder we all cheered when he was promoted.
'That's kind of you to say,' he says, in his first full interview since his Strictly role was confirmed.
'I can't tell you how thrilling it felt to think people were going, 'Hurrah'. It could have been, 'Oh God, not him again.' To feel people are on your side is lovely, though they could be cheering because they'd had enough of me dancing.'
What sort of judge will he be? Well, we have already had a taster, which suggests he will be constructive-with-the-criticism rather than Craig-level cutting.
Has he had to sit down with the producers and agree a persona?
'Oh no, the producers don't produce the judges. They will say things like, 'Concentrate on being succinct', because I do have a tendency to ramble on. And they want you to be careful with your language, so I'll have to make sure I don't tell anyone they dance as if they're at a urinal.'
Pardon? 'Len Goodman did that once — someone danced on their toes all the time and Len said they looked like a small man at a urinal. Len could get away with that, but even he got a look.'
When Anton first signed up for the show, it was little more than a joke in the ballroom world.
'Strictly is a national treasure now, a yearly event like Wimbledon,' he says. 'But at the start, when I said to a few people in the dance world that I'd put my name down, they couldn't have been less interested. 'Ballroom dancing, on the telly? Good luck with that.'
'At the time they were preoccupied with trying to get ballroom accepted as an Olympic sport.'
But Anton and a generation of ballroom dancers struck gold with Strictly. Suddenly there was a career route for them, away from the competition scene.
He credits two women with helping him find his feet in TV. The first was Strictly producer Karen Smith, who gave him the job. The other was Lesley Garrett, the opera singer, who was his first celebrity partner.
'I really owe it all to Lesley. She was this great diva who was fizzing with energy, keen to learn. She made me look good.'
He makes it sound as if he just clung onto her skirts, smiling — but of course, he made her look good too. And a pattern was set.
Although there have been younger women in his arms since — such as Emma Barton, with whom he reached the final in 2019 — mostly he has been paired with more mature contestants. For the menopausal would-be dancer, he was HRT in human form.
Although there have been younger women in his arms, like Emma Barton (pictured), with whom he reached the 2019 final, Anton was mostly paired with mature contestants on Strictly
As he chats about his leading ladies, there is little talk of dance technicalities.
He describes the cosy restaurant where Ann Widdecombe had lunch before he schooled her in the cha-cha-cha. She used to like sauté potatoes as a side dish and would often finish with a slice of cake.
'It was odd. When I was teaching before, I would never partner a student. But here my job is to be partner, teacher, psychologist,' he says.
'I had to learn about my partners very quickly. Did they drink coffee or tea? Were they better training in the mornings, or evenings? How did they want to train?
'One insisted she wanted to train for eight hours a day, but it quickly became apparent that she wasn't physically or mentally fit for that.
'I knew it would be better if she did two hours and went home, but that would have been disastrous for her psychologically, so we ended up training for two hours and drinking tea for six.'
Ruth Langsford, the TV presenter, was one of his more challenging partners. He adores her, but she was gripped by what he calls 'the Strictly fear' and once refused point-blank, he says, to come down that big staircase: 'It took four of us to coax her down.'
Tuesdays, when she was trying to learn the steps, were
