It would have been 2018, I think, when I started to get messages that Huw Edwards wanted to meet me. He had started boxing, was starting to look a bit buff, and apparently was interested in contributing in some way to the magazine I was editing at the time, GQ. As well as being a features magazine that focussed on Hollywood and Westminster, we were, in many eyes, a barometer of style and fitness; lots of men convened with the brand because they wanted to know what clothes to wear, and how to keep their body in the right shape in order to show these clothes off to their best advantage.
Edwards was obviously proud of his new body, and seemed interested in getting it into GQ. As I remember, he was keen to write about his fitness regime, but seemed coy about posing topless. I said that if he was going to write about it, then he needed to show our readers how it had manifested itself. In one breath he was desperate to show off his body, but in the next seemed embarrassed by the very thought of it. There seemed to be an internal switch that he was flicking on and off, almost as if he were trying to break it.
