Let me at this point say a word of thanks to an American, Seth Boyden (1788-1870). He devised a nail-making machine and built his own steam boat. But my admiration for this talented chap stems from another of his achievements. It was Mr Boyden who invented patent leather. He discovered that, by applying lacquer at the end of the tanning process, the finished leather could be given a durable shine which would gleam and sparkle for years thereafter. This, in black, is the leather we now use for our dress shoes.

Apart from the use of such black patent leather for the uppers, there were many other details to be discussed with Mr Carnera. My wooden last, made for my first pair of Cleverley’s shoes, was already upstairs – carefully stored along with those of all other Cleverley customers. But I had the impression that my right foot had ‘dropped’ a little, so new measurements were taken to facilitate modifications to the last. Comfort, as always, would be the first priority.

Then there were decisions to be taken about style and construction. I enjoy hearing myself on the pavement, so I like to have metal quarter heels – for the ‘click, click’ effect. I tend to wear the front tips of the soles disproportionately – even though, as always at Cleverley, they are made from oak-bark-tanned leather from Bakers’ thousand year-old tannery in Devon – so I have two rows of nails to slow the wear. The impression of lightness – one of the hallmarks of Cleverley’s shoes – would be assisted by the slight tapering of the heels. To the same end, the shoes would have the “extended Cleverley look”, a lengthening of the toe.

I settled upon the Balmoral design, with no brogue effect, with the typical chisel toe for which George Cleverley remains famous, with stitched toe caps, five eyelets and black silk laces.

But what of my concern for spats? The suggestion of a white dress spat would be achieved by having each shoe made with a galosh in white calf. For a moment I thought this should be in white patent leather, but the original spats were made of cotton and were not shiny, so white calf – introducing a contrast of surface texture, as well as the contrast of colour – would be far more appropriate. This offered the prospect of a most exciting effect, and I was pleased that Mr Carnera shared my enthusiasm. (Mr Carnera’s uncle, Primo Carnera, was the world heavyweight boxing champion in 1933 and 1934, so I suspect the combination of bravery and risk-taking which is essential to the pugilist is part of his inheritance.)

The waiting followed. Social occasions came and went when I wore my usual dress shoes – black patent leather Oxfords. These shoes have served me well over the years, and still look smart. Yet now I could see them only as second-best. I began to study the dress shoes of others with increased diligence. At no point did I see any which were at all similar to those which were being made for me. I began to wonder whether they would be a mistake. Eventually, the call came. The shoes were ready.