It is cold, very cold outside at the moment and my poor poor hands are rather taking the brunt of this by producing nasty old man skin.
Of course, I moisturise (this is the nineties…plus four) but what I really need is some kind of protection from the cold harsh chill of the icy English wind.
I am in luck as these have been invented many years ago by Brian Glove, I am of course talking about the glove. For those of you unaware, gloves are socks for hands, but with fingers (or are socks gloves for feet, I suppose it all depends on who invented what first. nb: the inventor of the sock was Brian Sock)
I have some gloves. Or rather I had some gloves, last winter I was definitely mostly walking around with gloves. Then the hot weather came and with gay abandon I put them in a cupboard or something (interesting fact, the cupboard was invented by Brian Cupboard) the hot weather came and like a fool I had fun with my summer shorts and tshirts and sandals (all invented by….forget it). The gloves were resentful, they could see how I had turned my back on them (they can see through cupboard doors) and decided to seek revenge, by losing themselves.
Or rather, one would lose itself, the other would be found and then lost before the first one would turn up again, thus never making a pair (Michael Jackson had this problem in the eighties – bet he wishes that was his biggest problem now – see, I can do satire).
And now my hands suffer.
I have no idea how much gloves cost, I can only presume that as I haven’t bought a new pair they must be at least £100. So when walking down Oxford Street today I spy a glove on the floor, I am tempted to pick it up. But obviously this is grim and not the done thing to do. And besides, there’s only one, that’s a whole new set of problems, I may end up with an odd pair from my original glove. The estranged of the two would be convinced that the first glove was having an affair and I would be blamed for separating them. I in turn would blame the shorts and I’d probably open my wardrobe to see a lone glove with a lighter burning the summer clothes.
So I left it.
But then, as I was heading home, walking down a forgotten street in Willesden Green I saw another glove. And it was identical. I could have had a pair, rendering this whole sorry story pointless.
The moral – pick up rubbish and keep it.