If there is one definable quality to Dawson’s indefinable offensiveness, it is petty aggression. He is the guy at the pub who always talk a little louder than he needs to. He is the guy who tries to race you at traffic lights. He is a Twitter banter account in human form. He is the sort of person for whom the word “mate” is not a term of endearment, but a grammatical punch in the face, an axiom to be deployed at the start of every sentence like a capital letter. There is a spiky competitiveness to him that probably came in very handy when he was playing rugby, but now just comes across as a bit weird and insecure. Mate, don’t ruin this for me. Mate, don’t kill my buzz. Mate, yeah?