John Lobb, like James Bond, is a blunt name for something world-famously grand and English. It should be called Maximilian Beaumont-Cowles, I think, as I arrive at the Jermyn Street bootmaker for a tutorial in shoe maintenance. The class is a newly launched initiative by the store, and I am to be its first pupil.

Noel, the crisp and attentive store manager, ushers me past the display rows, where Oxfords and loafers (from ￡735) pose under tasteful lighting, their taut leather almost audibly breathing dignity. As we settle down in a back room, I anticipate a culture clash. Loyal to a nearby bootmaker at the bolshier end of the market, I have turned up in a pair of winkle-pickers the colour of blood.

But Noel is game, even murmuring his appreciation as he reads a line from “Sympathy for the Devil” that is etched into the leather. He then leads me through 90 minutes of assiduous work on an old pair of Lobbs. We brush off surface dirt, we apply cream with a softer brush, we coat the welts and wax the upper, we buff in small circles and scrub in long strokes, we dab our cloth in literally one drop of water and rub it into the waxed leather. We brush again.