Stop press: Louis Smith is in love. It’s in the tabloids. The Twittersphere is in full throat. There are rumours of a run on hats at Marks & Spencer.
Given that Smith is a silver- and bronze-winning Olympian gymnast, recently took gold on the pommel horse at the British Gymnastics Championships in Liverpool and was the 2012 Strictly Come Dancing winner, his current relationship ought not to be the most interesting thing about him.
But right now it is. Mostly because he can’t stop talking about it, which is not only terribly sweet, but a reminder as well that while Smith may have the body of Adonis and the strength of Atlas, he also has the tender heart of a 25-year-old.
“I’m very happy,” he announced after last weekend’s Liverpool win. “Having someone to share things with was the one thing missing from my puzzle, so it’s lovely to be with Lucy.”
When Smith and I meet, at a National Lottery-funded dance event, he’s still astonished at his romantic good luck. “I am so happy, it’s so great; Lucy is wonderful.”
The Lucy in question is Lucy Mecklenburgh, 23, a former star of the reality series “Towie” – The Only Way is Essex, who now runs Lucy’s Boutique in Brentwood and an online fitness company called ResultsWithLucy.com.
They met when Smith was a judge on the BBC gymnastics programme Tumble, and Mecklenburgh was a contestant.
Smith had only ever had one relationship previously. He had later spoken out, with touching forthrightness, about the loneliness of a life dedicated to training, which was, oddly, far sadder than the fact he missed out on a London 2012 gold.
But after four months of dating, Smith and Mecklenburgh are posting so many loved-up pictures that they are in danger of breaking Instagram.
There is one potential fly in the ointment, however, Smith confides in me, with a straight face. “I’m terrified of moths,” he says. “Lucy has no idea. I live on the edge of a field, so the insects are huge.
“I’m supposed to be the man of the house, but if there’s a moth in the bathroom, I just run out and close the door. I’m a wimp.”
Short of moving house, surely there’s nothing he can do but eventually go back in and face his lepidopteran demons?
“Oh no, I phone my mum and get her to deal with it.”
There is something incontrovertibly charming about Smith. We saw it on Strictly, where his “journey” was more arduous than most.
To begin with he was – let’s not euphemise – useless. But he had panache and courtesy, youth and beauty, self-confidence and selfdeprecation. And in time and with effort, he learnt to dance like a star of the Bolshoi.
Today, he is in a Kent sports hall, teaching a group of tinies, teens, mothers and grandmothers the basics of a Viennese waltz.
“Put your arms up like you’re a zombie,” he tells the class, helpfully. Smith is a natural when it comes to understanding his audience.
“These children have been very lucky to be let off lessons,” chirrups a member of staff. “Nothing disrupts learning apart from Louis!”
“Yes, that’s exactly what my teachers used to tell me,” he quickfires back. He’s not entirely joking. Smith, the son of an absent Jamaican father and an English mother, grew up near Peterborough and was branded a disruptive “bad boy” at primary school.
It transpired he had attention deficit hyperactivity disorder and he was prescribed Ritalin.
His mother recognised early on that gymnastics was an outlet for his boundless energy. So, too, was singing. At the age of seven, he was offered not one but two choral scholarships.
“I didn’t realise at the time what having a scholarship really meant,” he says. “I would have gone to private school and enjoyed all the opportunities that would have offered me.
“But when I was told I would have to give up gymnastics and sing instead, I just couldn’t do it. To her great credit, my mum accepted my decision.”
Smith and his mother, Elaine, adore one another. Although the family lived in straitened circumstances in a council house, she strove to provide the best she could for him and his brother.
Smith’s beautiful manners are a testament to her standards. Apparently she likes his new girlfriend. If she didn’t, I suspect that might have been a deal-breaker.
As it is, the couple are indeed well suited. While Mecklenburgh is harnessing her celebrityhood in the service of a second career, Smith is using his first career as a jumping off point for celebrityhood.
“Until I did Strictly, I was just an unknown gymnast,” he says. “Now, I get people coming up to me all the time wanting pictures and to chat. It’s great but it’s weird and a bit unreal; I know it could all end tomorrow, so I’m going to enjoy it for what it is.”
Smith shares a lot of himself online, mostly barenaked selfies that stop just below his six-pack.
“I’m just sharing my physique,” he says. “I work hard to get the body I have, so why not show off what I’ve got?”
It would be cynical – but truthful – to point out that the combined glamour of Smith and Mecklenburgh (celebrity times two equals six-figure deals), could take the pair all the way to their very own Louis & Lucy reality show.
It’s a well-trodden path. Even a former Olympian – he’s not yet decided whether Brazil 2016 is a realistic goal, given that he will be a decade older than some competitors – needs to earn a crust.
That explains, in part, why so many stars of track and field now follow the standard trajectory from athlete to Olympian to comedy show panellist or the face of a topflight advertising campaign. Then, when things slide, comes a physically gruelling ( I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here!) or psychologically annihilating ( Celebrity Big Brother) reality show.
“I hate the idea of being flown into somewhere remote,” says Smith. “It’s the same reason why I hate being a passenger in a fast car, but I love driving fast; I just can’t stand not being in control.
“I wouldn’t go into the I’m a Celebrity jungle, although they do say that everybody’s got their price. My price would be ridiculous; I won’t skydive or bungee-jump.”
But Smith isn’t just waiting for fate to come knocking. Even before the 2012 Olympics, he auditioned for The X Factor; his (pretty tuneless) audition saw Simon Cowell telling him in no uncertain terms to “stick with what you’re good at”. Sportsmen are not shrinking violets, however, and Smith is in discussion with a designer about a line of gym wear, and is spearheading the Louis Smith Gymnastics Academy, a national network of children’s activity camps operating in school holidays.
He’s also in talks about setting up a fitness programme. But his true passion is reserved for making gymnastics mainstream, by giving it a modern, urban twist in arena shows. It’s worked for ballroom dancing, after all.
“I don’t just want to put my name to something, I want to be an active part of it,” he says. “I also need to earn a living.”
Smith previously received Lottery funding “at the most crucial point in my career”, as did Beth Tweddle, his fellow Olympian gymnast; financial support enabled them to concentrate on training.
Smith was also sponsored recently by BMW, but after the London Olympics, he is now – unfathomably – between sponsors.
Perhaps he and Lucy will make for a marketing dream team. It would certainly put paid to the grumblings that theirs is not so much a genuine romance as a “showmance” beloved of celebrities looking to boost their brand.
Perish the thought. Smith is a poster boy for clean living who loves his mum.
The highs and lows of sporting greatness are all very well. The staged jeopardy of reality television is amusing enough. But in public affections nothing beats a happy ending; who could fail to wish him well?
Louis Smith was highlighting this year’s National Lottery Awards, the annual celebration of Britain’s favourite Lotteryfunded projects. Award-winners will be announced later this year.