By Bagehot

REPORTING from a summit some years ago, your correspondent found himself following the foreign minister of another country into a press conference. The foreign minister in question, a celebrated public intellectual at home, was strolling at an easy lope into the room when his attention was caught by something to his left. The distraction, it turned out, was the minister’s own reflection in the shiny glass of an interpreter’s booth. The ministerial hand rose and came to rest on the ministerial hair, its owner oblivious to the British journalist just behind him. Pat, pat, smooth, went the hand. A last check. A nod. Oh yes. Looking good. And in we went.