Fits like a glove

Have I finally kicked my addiction for silk scarves? Maybe not, maybe another stint of accessory rehab is in order in the form of beautiful, unusual and kooky gloves. It was only yesterday that I was dragging a rather sad and bedraggled pair of Vivienne Westwood gloves from my draw that it dawned on me that I needed a new pair as my extremities turn into frozen stumps in this weather. Now, usually I'm very good and considerate with my designer items, so I'm not quite sure what happened with these gloves... well, I am... I got pen on them within a week of owning them, spilt some kind of carbonated drink down them and then wore them in the snow. The result is a rather limp pair of leathery gloves, uncanny to gorilla paws (do gorillas have paws?!) bar the odd water mark and biro stain. And they always were a tad too big for me. So, the thought had crossed my mind that new winter gloves were in order. Enter super Mutti (that's German for mother, for any of you who didn't take their German GCSE... don't ever tell me that I didn't pay attention in that class, because I did. A bit. I remember Opa, and Oma, and regenbogen, and...). Flying home from Vienna last night, the only salve to my jealousy for my Mutti's cosmopolitan trip without me was these rather dashing leather gloves. Black on the palms and white on the outside, they are utterly stunning, and I rarely stray into the realms of anything other than monochrome so they slip into my wardrobe a treat. The buttons add extra appeal too. It's always satisfying owning something really rather lovely from abroad, safe in the knowledge you won't see throngs of girls wearing them from Tottenham Court Road to Marble Arch. Asking where my mother snapped them up from, she replied a glove shop, to which I replied "You mean, it was a sort of glove shop? Just for gloves?", and Mutti affirmed "It wasn't a sort of glove shop, a glove shop was exactly what it was. Just for gloves". How ruddy marvelous.