The pair of woollen gloves slotted on to the tops of railings inside Victoria Station looked like hands reaching out from immurement in the wall behind. That’s what attracted my attention. Then I saw that the thumb and index finger tips of each glove had a smooth pad of leather, or more likely plastic.

I thought these were for picking out a rail pass or for paying with a banknote. I’ve since discovered that they are intended to allow use of a mobile without taking the gloves off. Otherwise the woolly surface would just polish the screen.
Gloves haven’t featured much in my urban life for years. Unlike me, the Queen keeps up their use. At the top end of society such things become fossilised in daily life, like cups and saucers or umbrellas. The wide base of society feel obliged, for marginal convenience, to use mugs instead of cups and saucers and nothing instead of umbrellas, leaving them a soggy sight in the rain. Luckily for us in London, it seldom rains. Annual rainfall is 27 inches (compared with 41 for Manchester, 44 for Glasgow).

But, like hats, gloves were once thought essential, not just for monarchs. The Worshipful Company of Glovers, drawing up its ordinances in 1349, rightly forbade gloves to be sold by candlelight lest the customer be cozened. If discovered, “naughtie and deceitefulle gloves” were to be confiscated and destroyed.