THE READING/LONDON ROUND-UP, ONE YEAR LATER (Part Two)

Erstwhile housemate Rob found this prime specimen at Jackson's Corner in Reading when returning from London on March 6th.

My pal Parker and I somehow became blood-giving buddies at the beginning of last year, when we realized we had a mutual love for platelet donation and the inevitably subsequent tea and prepackaged cookies. On March 8th, Parker informed me that a blood drive was once again taking place in the Reading SportsPark (i.e. BG Mecca), so I gladly accompanied him. Upon our arrival, however, the blood-people told us that the drive was fully booked, so we walked dejectedly back to the middle of campus... but not before I saw yet another weary soul nearing the end of its pilgrimage.

The next day, Daniel's brother (who'd been in London helping him with his exhibition) came to Reading. I'd been in the library, and I met them outside the Palmer building so we could go to my house together and make a truckload of spaghetti. (Said spaghetti leftovers overstayed their welcome in my fridge after I forgot about them, and even thinking about them now, all slick and turquoise and oily, makes me feel a little queasy.) Outside the union building, they pounced on a glove.

EDIT: I miss this.

I don't seem to have found any more gloves until April 10th, which is odd, but I'll trawl my phone to see if there've been any pictures I forgot about. On the 10th, Daniel and I were at the Reading Homebase trying to find a suitable houseplant. He finally settled on a maidenhair fern that he named Ferris (Ferris died about a month later). The BG and "BG" (it was too fortuitous to pass up) that I found were both right outside, near the Bel and Dragon pub:

EDIT: I miss this too.

Nobody's really going to read this, are they? It's scary and all that I'm about to catapult my angst into cyberspace and onto the screens of whomever might be muddling through this at some point in the far future, but what hasn't been said by a bajillion other people already? Breakups suck. They truly do. It's like making a grilled cheese sandwich and then being forced to peel apart the two pieces of bread that have been so carefully toasted, and then there are crumbs and stringy strands of melted cheddar (or gouda, or feta*, or Muenster or what have you) scattered all over the place and it's just so damned messy and unappetizing.

*I KNOW you'd never make a grilled cheese with feta. I know my cheese. It was just a dumb analogy.

THE READING/LONDON ROUND-UP, ONE YEAR LATER (Part One)

I know.

It's been too long.

I'm going to keep most of these captions as short and sweet as possible so that I can get to the most recent photos from London

(where I live now

because I'm doing that MA that I applied for

and it's blowing my mind a little bit).

Here goes nothing on an empty stomach, as my mom always says (not entirely true. My stomach is full of coffee and crystallized ginger):

I spent four Fridays throughout last February and March doing work experience at Breast Cancer Care, a London-based charity near the Tate Modern. The circumstances under which I obtained this work experience were rather far-fetched: the (now) ex-boyfriend of the sister of a friend of my (now) ex-boyfriend's brother

...here, for those of you who don't know me personally, I suppose I should mention that the (now) ex-boyfriend is the oft-referenced Daniel of previous posts. (It's actually December 19th, but for continuity's sake I'm going to stick this one somewhere in July.) I highly doubt he'll read this, and I'm not really down with Internet etiquette regarding the proper handling of breakups, but I can't think that this slight aside would cause any harm, seeing as it'll explain his sudden disappearance from future captions. Does this have any relevance to black gloves? I guess not, but it's weird to look back on these photos and remember the exact circumstances surrounding the discovery of a glove. In a way, all these photos helped me to form a sort of topographical map of Reading, and so many times I was with him, or going to meet him, or leaving his house or wherever we'd been together - we were constantly walking around discovering nooks and crannies of the town - that even though he wasn't an active participant in the BGP (in fact, I don't think he really understood it), it'll still be odd knowing he won't likely appear in any more of them.

No more sap! Anyway...

...worked in the editorial department there, proofreading pamphlets and newsletters among other tasks. As an English lit graduate himself, he was more than happy to help me out, and I ended up having a blast. If the opportunity arises, I'd love to work in a charity at some point - everyone was ridiculously friendly, and it was great to know that everything was done to help women with breast cancer and their families, not just to make products more appealing and desirable.

I found this pair across the street from Southwark tube station on February 19th. Frost had forced the glove in the foreground to give me a raggedy thumbs-up. I can't help but think that whoever lost them had been rummaging in a bag, maybe searching for an Oyster card, causing them to escape one at a time.

When I returned to Reading that night, I went to Marks & Spencer for a reason I cannot recall. This fingerless glove-sleeve thing (yeah, all right, I'm getting even MORE lax in my requirements) was atop a shelf there:

Two days later, I was with Daniel. I can't remember where we were headed, but we must have hit up Pau Brasil for a toasted cheese, tomato, and oregano sandwich, because he's holding one in one of those little wax bags they used. I do remember his mom called, and he stopped to talk to her while I caught this glove in a parking lot off Whitley:

The same day, probably within a few miles of us, devoted glovehunter Izzy found an especially well-placed one. I should really give this one its own post and entitle it "The Crotch Shot":

On March 5th - I think that was the day that Daniel's exhibition opened - I spotted this one outside Liverpool Street tube station and was nearly trampled trying to get a non-blurry photo of it. Wait, that can't be right, because I know Daniel was there when I took it (he was impatient) and we didn't go to his exhibition together; he was already at the venue. Oh, I don't know. This one gave me a thumbs-up as well.

The Dugong

Azar and I spent most of the day in the library doing nothing related to our respective dissertations. Actually, I think she did a fair amount, but I kept watching videos of dugongs on YouTube. I caught sight of this sodden specimen in the grass to the side of the Biological Sciences building as we walked to her house via the Coop for dinner:

Being completely dark outside and downpouring to boot, it looked more like something out of Poltergeist than the world's greatest sight, so Azar and I deemed it necessary to pluck it from its resting place and artfully drape it over a nearby, well-lit rail:

Voilà!

The Art Historian

As if I hadn't had enough of a glove-filled few hours, I returned to campus for a meeting with my dissertation* supervisor and found what may be the most EPIC (and I don't use that word lightly) of glove locations: underneath some sort of classical cherub by the History of Art and Architecture department in HumSS. I heard a veritable stampede of footsteps approaching as I fumbled with my camera and managed to get two decent pictures just as a whole horde of prospective students led by a tour guide burst through the doors at the end of the corridor. I slunk sheepishly by them- honestly, if a few of them decide not to go to Reading solely out of fear of the creepy girl lurking and taking photographs of seemingly nothing, I wouldn't be surprised. 

At any rate (sorry about the first one, I had to do some funky stuff with the brightness and contrast to make the glove visible, although I turned the figure into some sort of glowing transcendental Buddha in the meantime):

*BLAH, which I'm supposed to be working on right now. I can't believe I'm updating the BGP in the library... procrastination in its highest form.

The Sea Lion

Yes, this is STILL the 17th of February. I accompanied Daniel to a post office in the middle of nowhere to pick up a package of Greek sweets from his mom. We got lost about eighteen times and had to ask numerous people for directions, including a man in the most tawdry convenience store I've ever had the pleasure of entering. Everything was covered in dust, especially Ziploc bags of single hairbands that were at least 15 years old and stapled to a piece of cardboard dangling from the ceiling.

Anyway, we finally figured out more or less where we were going (although we would still have to ask two more men before we reached our destination) and I spotted this salty sea-dog in the parking lot of a completely deserted industrial park. 

The Never-Ending Slew of Gloves on the Path by the SportsPark

Will they NEVER STOP!?!?  First, walking back from an anti-Valentine's Day party in the wee hours of the 12th, I spotted this lil' darling with Sophie (she does not actually look like this in real life. Apparently there is nothing more unromantic and anti-Valentine's than an emo):
Then, on the 17th, with the previous glove still moldering away by a fence, I spotted these two within about a minute of each other:

Seriously, IT IS A VORTEX.

The Triumphant Mitten

After over a month of freaking out and dashing to and fro and gathering transcripts and rewriting CVs and coordinating references and trying to figure out some exciting beginning to a personal statement, I had finally submitted my application to do an MA in Material and Visual Culture at UCL. I mentioned the BGP in my personal statement (it's pretty much the epitome of material and visual culture, no?), so if any admissions officers are reading this: Hello, please accept me. 

I left the library in a state of giddy elation. Not two minutes later, I spied this mitten in the parking lot by Whiteknights House. I don't consider myself superstitious, but I hope this is some form of sign... although since it's a mitten, who knows what it could signify? Perhaps I won't get accepted at UCL, but some equally exciting opportunity will come along. After all, I always wear mittens, not gloves.

The Hail's Angel

As I was walking down Whitley once again with Daniel, it freakishly started to hail. I'm pleased that I managed to catch this twisted sister with tiny hailstones intact on her fingers. 

The Picture of Modesty

The overriding law of this whole thing, I've found, is that as soon as you start thinking, "I haven't seen a glove in a while," -

BOOM, one's splayed right in front of you, practically blocking your path. This was on Christchurch Road as I was once again walking to Daniel's house.

The Death Row

I'd heard rumors of this thrilling trio, on a fence at the other end of my road, from Athamos, but didn't see it myself until I'd already walked by it once. As I'd recently discovered that a Norwegian waffle iron belonging to my last-year's-housemate (and ardent black glover) Azar had been left behind in my house, I wanted to put it to good use. Thus, Daniel and I dashed to Premier to get some eggs, Nutella, and ice cream, and lo and behold, on the way back these three finally revealed themselves! (Of course Daniel had to pick the black one up and fling it around for a while before I could retrieve it and photograph it.)

Oh, and then it turned out that because the waffle maker was Norwegian, we didn't have the correct plug converter. I tried to see if it would work in the bathroom shaver-plug, accompanied by shrieks of "Don't get electrocuted!" from various housemates, but it didn't. Also, it was covered with mysterious short black hairs. We ended up making pancakes instead. Triple fail.