From Rocher with love

This marvellous entry comes from Jane, who says: ‘This solitary glove may have been a casualty of a rush to grab sufficient supplies of the Ambassador’s finest. Or, alternatively, perhaps the owner took the “share something special” strapline on the box to heart and sacrificed it for the colourful benefit of others?’

Found in: Sainsbury’s, Kingston


It was a berry good year

I love this festive offering from Susan who speculates that the tiny pink mitten fell from a buggy as its owner attempted to relieve a passing bush of some red fruits 'in a buggy-by fruiting (like a drive-by shooting, but safer & more nutritious)'.

Found in: Hammersmith, west London

Spare us the gutter...

Classic woolly two-fingered salute spotted by the lovely Michael and posted by the deeply tardy me.

Found: next to Sacred Trinity Church, Salford


Drive My Car

This from Richard, our Paris correspondent:

This chic leather number was draped across the bonnet of a small Citroen outside the swanky Hotel de Crillon, next to the Federation Federation Internationale de l'Automobile, the governing body for world motorsport

Richard says: 'Note how the glove is not just placed, but seems to be reasuringly patting the little car, as if saying, "Don't worry... you may be small and there may be all these big German and Italian sports cars around looking beautiful but you can do things that they can't!"

I didn't stay around to learn what those things were.'

Found at: Place de la Concorde, Paris

Train in vain


Found: on platform 14, London Bridge station


You've Lost That Oven Feeling

This from the award-winning Mr Finnemore:

In all my days of lost-glove recording, I never imagined we would one day enter the realm of heat protection, but we live in strange and wonderful times.

As the sender says: 'Annoying, isn't it, when you go to get something out of the oven, in your kitchen in a different house at the other end of the High Street, and by the time you get there...'

Found in: Wern, Shropshire


Who Wants To Live Forever

I'm indebted to Patrick for sending me this picture of the Boston subway system where, as he puts it, 'the gloves go to become immortal'.

I don't know much about art, but I know what I like. I like this.


Don't Leaf Me This Way

That leaf has an angry face.

Found: by Mr Jones (no relation), aka Fine Dining, on Kennington Road



This entry, from my brother, Jones Senior, looks positively prehistoric.

Ground into the mud and mutilated almost beyond recognition, it was found in the unlikely location of this rural idyll.

Jones Senior wonders whether the glove's owner suffered some terrible retributive act from the occupants of the field.

Found at: Corsham Park, Wiltshire


Jonesy And The Dream Of Horses

One stablehand is going home with a cold hand. And a bad case of rein-chafing.

Found at: A place where racehorses have a nice run-out early in the mornings, Newmarket


Smell The Glove

Vicky brings disturbing evidence to GOTR HQ. An animal has defiled this glove, which was discarded by builders working on her house.

Our finest poo experts are attempting to identify the animal responsible – fox or cat? – but this much is clear: this beast has ideas above its station. It's not the first time it's got down to its business on a glove, rather than deigning to use the grass.

I never said this blog was going to be easy reading.



Mrs Haines brings us this offering, captured close to some manner of rescue apparatus on one of London's bridges.

It struck me that someone might have torn off their gloves in order to better perform a heroic feat of life-saving. Mrs Haines, however, has a more creative interpretation. She says: 'It was probably left by one of the builders in the area, but its three-fingered formation makes me wonder if someone from The Simpsons is moonlighting on the Tate Modern extension.'

Found: on Southwark Bridge, London


O Canada

Zoë found this glove for us in Newfoundland, Canada. If you ever want to find something, I guess that's the place to go.

Anyway. She says: 'I found this chippy specimen at the start of a 15km hike. I couldn't decide whether it was sticking two fingers up at the very notion of such an enterprise and thus was happy to be left behind, or whether that's really a V for victory after conquering the rather tricky terrain.'

Found at: Gros Morne National Park, Newfoundland, Canada


My Daddy Was A Bank Robber

He wasn't at all. He worked entirely within the law.

But this glove was dropped outside a branch of Lloyds bank.

And who wears gloves to the bank in July apart from someone who is up to no good?

Found: Lloyds bank, Lordship Lane, southeast London.


The Show Must Go On

I saw this at last weekend's Lambeth Country Show.

I love the Lambeth Country Show. You can read more about our special day together here, if you like. Or about our complicated history here and here.

This is an all-action kind of a glove. No cosy woollen knit here. I'm worried someone misplaced it on their way to perform death-defying motorcycle stunts in the main arena. I hope this was not their epitaph.


School's Out

This one's a teeny bit blurry, but I'm posting it because I'm nothing if not a benevolent god. It comes from my friend, J, a headteacher in Leeds. She sent it to me a few months ago, but I've quite deliberately saved it till school's-out-for-summer season. Yes, definitely that, and absolutely not because I'm massively behind with posting things. Hell, no.

It is, as Jane says, a 'discarded glove under the school gates, pointing two fingers in the direction of school'.

Like, yeah. Hey teacher, leave those kids alone.

(I don't include Jane in that last sentence. She's my awesome friend.)



This peach of a picture comes from the lovely Helen, who spotted this, and I quote, 'rather pathetic specimen' while in the West Sussex countryside over Easter. Yes, I am a little behind with the posting. Deal with it.

She continues, 'The temperature, the remoteness of the location and the time of year leads me to suspect that this glove is destined to hang, uncollected, for some time to come. I was sorely tempted to stuff it full of leaves in an attempt to create a kind of 'pointing finger' signpost effect, but I was afraid a group of professional-type walkers (probably with laminated maps and stout boots) would appear and tut at me disapprovingly, so I didn't.'

Give Greece A Chance

Today, another entry for the international dossier. Captured by my mum, on holiday in Greece.

She says: 'The attached was taken as I exited the tomb of Clytemnestra at Mycenae. As you know, but I admit I didn't, she was not a nice woman. I don't know if the missing digits are significant.'

I don't know either, but I know that I like the diamond knit. Reminds me of school socks. Not in a weird way.

Found at: the tomb of Clytemnestra, Mycenae, Greece


White Lines (Don't Do It)

I've got a bit behind with the glove posting lately, which is a shame because this one, from Ceddis in Edinburgh, is a beauty.

I particularly love the composition of this – the white line stretching into the distance, and the sinister shadow-people. It's a bit 28 Days Later. Probably. I haven't actually seen it.

Found: On the bike path, next to the Serpentine, Hyde Park, London


New York, New York

Sound a tiny toy trumpet because today Glove On The Rocks Inc. is thrilled to reveal its very first international contribution, sent to us by Dauré all the way from New York City. Yes, the New York City THAT IS IN AMERICA.

These gloves sit jauntily on a pair of brooms on a street sweeper's cart. Maybe they actually belong to the street sweeper. But I prefer to believe they were lost and he gathered them up and displayed them as some kind of trophy. Because who can resist a picture as fabulous as this? Not me, that's for sure.

Found: 5th Avenue, New York, USA


York This Way

You know how it is. You wait ages for a stray glove, and then, on a glorious walk in the March sunshine, three come along at once. That's exactly what happened to Lizzy. Here are her findings:

The last one is my personal favourite. I love the way this leather and leopard-print number (pretty slutty for a glove, I'd say) is appearing to cup the arse area of the jeans it's draped over. Cheeky.

Found: Various locations (including Debenhams), York


Back In Black

It's been a while since we saluted some sinister leather numbers, but these, sent to me by Helena, are perfect, tiny, examples of the murder-friendly genre.

Helena says: "How very careless to lose both of them, and they clearly start them young with their murdering in Chester However, I fear the owner may have to retake their 'Murder: Necessary Equipment 101' module. Sigh."

Sigh indeed. Sigh and shudder.

Found in: Chester


God Save The Queen

Today's offering was sent to me by my dear godmother.

With the impending nuptials of our prince, the purple and gold colour scheme seems positively regal.

And the way the glove is positioned makes it look something like the waving hand of our cherished monarch.

Found at: Queen Square, London W1 (even the location is appropriate)


Dog Days Are Over

Here is the second in our two-parter from InvisibleWoman. She describes it thus:

'A tribute laid on the grave of a long-dead pet in the grounds of my local park, probably put there by a descendent so that the poor dead hound can feel a ghostly pat on the head now and again.'

Found at: Wollaton Park, Nottingham


Long Road Home

This the first of a double bill from one of my favourite readers, InvisibleWoman, who risked life and limb to bring this lost glove to wider attention.

She says: 'I felt a complete and utter Charlie standing at the side of a busy dual carriageway taking a picture of this strangely defiant gauntlet (I definitely get the impression of a two-fingered salute going on here). Thankfully, I have one of those new-fangled camera phones so I could pretend to be sending a text so urgent it required me to get off my bike and stand at the edge of a busy road. I did consider waiting for a bus to come thundering past so I could add dramatic effect to the picture, but you know what buses are like when you want one, and I couldn't trust myself not to get flattened at the same time.'

InvisibleWoman, we would, of course, rather you were alive to tell the tale than we caught a fleeting flash of bus.

Many contributors to this blog speak of feeling a bit of a chump as they take pictures of bedraggled fallen gloves in public. I understand this, but I believe you should think of yourselves as pioneers. They all laughed at Christopher Columbus [I am quoting George Gershwin here, or possibly his sister Ira] when he said the world was round. They all laughed when Edison invented sound.

But one day, when you're shame-facedly taking that picture, people will stop you on the street and say, 'Oh, you must be taking a photo for Miss Jones's blog. Not the main one. The other one she does when she fails to get round to posting anything on the first one and is trying to quickly make herself feel a little bit less shit about it.' And then you will laugh and shake hands and maybe go for a drink or fall in love. And man shall speak unto man – or woman – and nation shall speak unto nation and everything will go just a little bit better. Because of you. And – pardon my boldness – because of ME.



This, sent in by my friend Miss L, is another one to file under 'creepy'. I think it's the rusting window bars, which carry an air of gloomy orphanage.

Perhaps the owner of the mitten was planning a breakout and was well wrapped up in preparation, but at the point of escape was hauled back inside by a mean old matron. This sad striped number was left on the windowsill as a stark warning to anyone planning to do the same.

Found: on Arabin Road, Brockley, south London

Piccadilly Palava

This from my dear friend and occasional colleague, Ms B:

A sheepskin number spotted on our glorious underground network, in what I would refer to as a 'vomit corner'. Let's hope it escaped unsplashed from any late-night unwellness.

Found: Eastbound Piccadilly Line platform, Green Park station, London


Street Life

Michael in Salford brings us this hat-and-glove combo, left on top of the mailboxes in his apartment building.

Michael says: 'What is slightly odd is that they are almost identical to those owned by a friend in the building – but they are not hers. Our current theory is that a doppelganger is slowly taking shape. We are expecting a coat next.'

This is a chilling notion, I think you'll agree, but one that we must take seriously. In a laboratory, this kind of metamorphosis is probably called glovagenics. Here, who knows? Glovalogical mutation?

In other Salford news, Michael tells us that the cobbles visible outside were once used in an episode of Coronation Street. It gladdens my heart to think that those stones may have come into contact with the Hush Puppies of one of my personal heroes, Roy Cropper.

Roy Cropper would not be so careless as to lose one of his gloves.


Your Cheating Hat

I know this is breaking the rules, but when I saw two beautifully positioned hats in as many days, I couldn't resist posting them.

Found at: More London Riverside No I Can't Believe It's Really Called That Either

Found at: Thomas More Square, east London

What can I say? I am nothing if not weak.

This act of self-indulgence is particularly shameful because I have had a veritable flurry of gloves sent to me recently, which I will be posting over the next few weeks. The onset of Actual Official Spring seems to have made people particularly careless with their knitted accessories.


Sign Of The Times

Yes, sir, The Times is a fascinating newspaper, but don't let it make you forget your gloves.

Strictly speaking, not Found but merely observed at: North Dulwich station


Last Chance On The Stairwell

SJL, our Edinburgh correspondent, brings us this haunting sight:

In her own words: 'I dread to think what grizzly fate befell the small owner of this blue fleecy hat. Chilling evidence of how he was set upon from an Edinburgh stairwell has been left behind...'

Further proof: wherever evil lurks, a pair of black leather gloves will not be far away.


The Hangover

This entry comes from Daure, who draws attention to the mangled lid of an alcopop bottle in the corner of the frame.

I suspect this glove was deserted by its former partner following some delinquent late-night behaviour. It certainly looks like it slept in a hedge.

Let's hope it's now doing some hard thinking about what it's done.

Found: Tesco car park, Baldock, Hertfordshire


Three… is the magic number

The lovely Hannah sent me three gloves some time ago, and since then I have been wrestling with whether to make separate posts out of them – as they are all quite beautiful examples of the genre – or whether to combine them as some sort of lost-and-found triptych. Blogging is full of these long dark nights of the soul.

Now I think that I can't quite bear to split them up, so here they are, a threesome waiting in vain for the ones who left them behind, like the Sugababes in wool form.

Found: remote railway station

Found: Someone's garden, Oxford

Found: Cherry Tree Wood, East Finchley