Jermaine Franklin is among the softer souls to possess such heavy hands. In fact, his voice is gentle enough that it is almost drowned out by each creak of the door, and by the din that spills in from the corridor.
Franklin sits at one end of a long table, in the middle of a hotel function room in Brentford, surrounded by journalists. Each creak, each spillage draws aggravated glances from the group. Yet, every time, there is also an undercurrent of curiosity as to whether it may just be the hulking figure of Anthony Joshua that strolls in.
