100 Objects Project #12: Cinema Ticket Stubs

Cinema Ticket Stubs for 'Brave'.

Cinema Ticket Stubs for ‘Brave’.

These are cinema ticket stubs for a showing of Disney’s Brave in August 2012, at a cinema in Leeds.

What is important about these is that this was the first time we took Daisy to the cinema. We felt by that as she was nearly four, she’d be okay to sit through a film with a minimum amount of fidgeting and trips to the loo.

She wore a bright pink flamenco dress that one of her grandparents had brought home from their holidays. She likes to dress for the occasion does my Daisy Do.

It was a really good film, the sort you want to buy when it comes out and we do have it on DVD, even though it’s on Netflix at the moment. However, it is not due to its animation or story – it is what it reminds me of.

When I take my youngest to the cinema for her first film, I will keep the stubs for that too. Babies grow up too quick, so it’s very important to whip up every reminder of a time when they were tiny. We only get one bash at childhood and it is so important to remember it.

It is also a quirky reminder of the fact that I can’t see 3D films (I have eyes best described by an Optician I once saw as “coming from different boxes”).

Poem: “Anger: You”

And in the night you’re just a fly-by

Can’t think nor help nor wonder why

You’re a glint in the eye of disaster.

Do you cry when you know you’re not past her?


See her fluttering float by



Be angry at self, others, self

She should be gathering dust on high shelf!

Bright day warm gold clouds wisp by…


Beat at your chest with pain – die


Beg to the gods this pain shan’t repeat

Have you learned your lesson now, not to cheat?


October 2003

Short Story: Away With the Fairies

WARNING: This short story may not be suitable for younger readers, as it contains adult themes and adult language. You have been warned.

Away With the Fairies ~ A Short Story

She sat in one of his t-shirts, oversized and comfortable, her bare legs stretched out in front of her on her single bed.

Books flanked her either side, but forgotten now as she watched the little TV at the end of the bed.

The show wasn’t memorable or engrossing, but she watched on, lost in it now. Anything was better than reading her course books, or dealing with the atmosphere in the room. Sometimes just saying very little saved her a lot of grief.

He was sat at her desk, messing about on her computer. He’d been relaxed, wearing her pyjama bottoms. The last time she’d looked at him, he had been transfixed with whatever he was looking at online, chewing and sucking his index finger in that way he did when he was concentrating.

So the TV had taken away her attention; both happy not to talk and maintain a reasonably comfortable silence.

She did not notice him move at all, either out of lack of attention, or being so used to him being around her. Several decades of the same person being in your world will eventually do that, she had once surmised. Either way, she didn’t see him.


The top of her head felt like it had been cracked with a lump hammer.

Her vision wavered, flickered for a moment, her gut twisted, her breathing stopped, her neck stabbed with pain as the muscles reacted to the sudden impact.

It took her a split second before she looked up to see him glaring down at her. Wide green eyes flared in barely contained fury.

“You never fucking listen to me, do you?” he spat through squat, square, dirty teeth.



Her heart thumped out of rhythm; her blood turning into a sickening slick of ice.

Oh God, please not again oh God, please not again, oh God please not again…

“Please” she whispered and then she uttered his name like it was the incantation that would bring out in him his better side. The side she had once known so well when they had been little children together. Yet it was for nought and that piece of him now long dead she had learnt, much to her despair.

She was broken down to the marrow to know that what she had fallen for was little more than a façade, wheeled out when it suited him, especially when he saw her look too longingly at the door. But that nice guy act wasn’t him, not the real him.

She had fallen in love with the façade, the fiction, the mirage, the bait… she couldn’t bear this growling lout that loomed above her now.

Her muscles tightened – she was breathing too fast now and everything suddenly smelled metallic.

He was unmoved by her words and unsympathetic to her tears.

“Fucking die you evil dirty slag”, he sneered.

In the moments that followed, she only wished she could have obliged him.

100 Objects Project #11: A Little White Shell

Little white shell from Mablethorp

Little white shell from Mablethorp

A little white shell I found on the beach of Mablethorp on the Lincolnshire coast in 2012. It reminds me of one of the best holidays I have ever had in my life. Actually, it is one of two – the other being a trip to Scotland in 2011.

This reminds me of being with Daisy, walking about carefree in our bare feet on the hot gold sand one Summers afternoon. It was wonderful.

I always feel at peace near water, especially the sea, so a reminder of being by the sea makes me feel better and evokes good memories.

I’m Sorry, But I Can’t Remember What You Got My Child!

I am extremely grateful for everything my daughters get from doting family and friends. It is great to know that they thought of my girls and that means a lot when you are a Mum.

However… there is this one aspect that bothers me: remembering who bought them what.

The last time this happened to me, was when my sister in law pointed out that a dress my baby was wearing looked like one she had bought her for her birthday, and asked me what colour the dress was that she’d got her and if I agreed with the similarity.

I balked. I had no idea. My daughter has piles of clothes and to be honest, I have absolutely no idea who bought her what. However, you are expected as the parent, to have a catalogue in your head of who bought what, when and every fine detail of said gift.

I have so much going on in my head as a Mum/wife/human being that simply won’t allow me to remember what the heck someone bought and when.

It can be so embarrassing!

Sometimes, people will ask where I got something from, or who bought my kids what… again – I have no idea. When the wrapping paper has come off, with the tag attached, your guess is as good as mine.

Some people like the pay off of asking “aww, did [relevant child’s name] enjoy [the thing they bought them]?” and you have to remember by whizzing through your short term memory, everything your child has played with recently.

Or if you get asked what so-and-so bought your child – another instance where I generally cannot remember. I also get the “isn’t that what I/such-a-body bought them?” and you have to be all “umm, yeah”, with no idea if it is true.

I’m not saying they get outrageous amounts of stuff, although it can seem that way at times, but I just don’t have a memory of every solitary thing they own. There isn’t enough room in my head to make that possible.

It is really embarrassing to be honest. It makes me look feckless, forgetful and ungrateful. You’re spinning enough plates as it is when you are a parent, without another added pressure like this.

So, if I haven’t remembered what you bought my babies, forgot to thank you or not remembered in photographic detail the item or my kids reaction to receiving it in minute details – I’m sorry. We are always very grateful for everything we get and thank you. However, please take into account that I am a human being with a terrible short term memory and I just simply cannot remember every single thing ever purchased for my children, including what I get them.

Ultimately though, I appreciate how lucky I am to even have this as a concern in life, some kids don’t get a thing.

Cat x

100 Objects Project #10: Cheeky Shot Glass

A shot glass from my 18th birthday

A shot glass from my 18th birthday

This cheeky little shot glass was a present for my 18th birthday from a friend from 6th form, Nicky.

I do not remember most of my 18th birthday; all I was told was that my Dad carried me to bed, I fell off the loo and my Aunt did some sick mopping up. The hangover the next day was frankly horrendous and definitely the worst one I’ve ever had in my life. My Dad made me go out and wash my car (which I still couldn’t drive, as I passed my test six days later) and I was sooo hung-over I couldn’t stand up straight! Just being young and dumb I suppose.

This little opaque glass just reminds me of that time and the people who I knew back then. It has had a place on a shelf, desk or window ledge in every place I’ve lived since 2000.

I don’t know Nicky anymore, or what became of her, we lost touch when I went to University.

I’ll always remember her and that bit of my life whenever I look at that glass.

Wherever she is and whatever she is doing with life, I hope everything is well and good.

Cat x