Anthony Joshua is sitting in the back seat of his brand new Range Rover SVAutobiography. It’s just been delivered to him on the gravel driveway of the Finchley and District Amateur Boxing Club, and the fresh leather smells like victory.
Inside the gym there’s a photograph on the wall of a young AJ — skinny, springy, hopeful. And inside the car there’s a subtle reminder of just how far that boy has come — a special crest emblazoned with the letters IBF, WBA, WBO and IBO. The real AJ, however, seems to live somewhere between the two. At some moments he’s considered, serious, philosophical. At others he gently takes the piss out of me. But mostly, of course, he’s just AJ the gentleman fighter — the nice guy who can’t stop finishing first.
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