Flick is five, and hasn’t lived much compared to us grown-ups. We seem to have been around forever and that’s why we’re worn around the edges in ways that she’s not. Flick, though, has lived all of her life so, to her, she’s as full as you would be if you’d have eaten 17,000 calories of fry up for breakfast at the local café just because they said that you’d get it for free if you could. Flick’s tummy isn’t full like that. But her heart is.
Ask her anything and she’ll tell you what she knows. She doesn’t know the capital of China or the wavelength of green light. She knows inside stuff. And she’s worth listening to because of her newness. That, and her bounciness. Imagine you don’t get what you want for dinner, even though your mum said that you would, and you feel sad. Well, Flick doesn’t. She can’t. She’s just not made like that, and that’s that.
I’m going to tell you some of her adventures. That’s the word that we use but she doesn’t because the things that she does are just the things that she does in the same way that crabs walk sideways or books make a whirring sound when you flick through their pages. Oh, and that reminds me: Flick is not called Flick because of pages and the sound they make. Her real name is Felicity Crammond, but Flick is easier to say for her, and it will be for you too. You’ll soon forget those long words because, as you fall in love with Flick, you’ll not want to do anything that she wouldn’t like, do, or like you to do. And that’s a promise.
That’s enough for now. I’ll tell you more about Flick next time.