‘Touch, I remember touch…’
It might, to some, seem a bit frivolous to be throwing an awards ceremony at a time like this. In truth, when we were putting together the GQ Men Of The Year Awards last year – with the vaccination programme but a moonshot and the autumn wave of the pandemic cresting in full grizzly style – we all agreed: go digital, cancel the parties, take the champagne off ice, hold the air-kissing and stop all that touchy-feely hugging. Begrudgingly, we did just that. Twelve months ago, the scientists, doctors, nurses, school teachers and frontline workers all needed more time, more of our stoic patience (and more pay), to heroically wrestle this virus into submission. Last year, the gongs and the speeches could – and should – wait. Stay home, mix a…