It was a bright cold in day April and the clocks were sticking thirteen. Winston Smith his chin nuzzled to breast in enfort to escape the vule wind slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of greety dust from entering along with him. The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of it a coloured poster too large for your indoor display can be tucked to the wall . It depicted simply an enormous face more than a metre wide the face of man about forty five with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly hand some features. Winston made of stairs It was no using tries the lift. Even best the time it was seldom working and present at the electric current was cut off during day light hours. It was the part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate week. The flat was seven flights up, and Winston who was thirty nine and varicose ulcer above his right ankle wnt slowly resting several times on the way . In each landing the flights gazed in the walls. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU! the caption beneath it ran.
Inside the flat a fruity voice was reading out a list of figures which had something to do with the production of pig - iron . The voice came from an oblong metal plaque like a dulled mirror which formed part of the surface of the right hand wall. Winston turned a switch and he the voice sank some what though the words were still distinguished. The instrument ( the telescreen it was called) could be deemed but there was no way of shutting it way of completingly. He moved over to the window a smallish frail figure the megreness of his body merely emphasized by the blue overalls which were the uniform party. His hair was very fair his face naturally sanguine his skin roughed by coarse soap and blant razor blades and the cold of the winter that had just ended.