Changelings

I don't have a daughter F any more. She's gone, vanished and replaced by something new.

Before I startle anyone into panic, this isn't a sudden dark turn for the blog. No developmental illnesses, no terrible accidents. No, this is far worse. This is Disney.

If I call F by name at the moment, she tells me "No, actually, I'm called Tristan." Tristan refers to himself in the third person, suspiciously similarly to F's general habit, and doesn't do things like eating up all his food at lunchtime, tidying his toys or sleeping in his bed. Tristan sleeps in the Pixie Dust Tree (F's castle) on a sheepskin rug.

Tristan isn't even called Tristan in the original movies. Disney's Fairies series, starring Tinkerbell, also feature a Dust Elf who makes sure the other elves get their daily dose of fairy dust. He's called Terence in the English version, Tristan in the Swedish. Not sure why that translation got made, V says Terence would be harder for Swedes to say. No great loss, it's not perhaps the most whimsical of pixie names. Up there with Nigel the Cleaning Fairy or mischevious tax sprite Arthur Jones.

But it gets worse, worse than having an alter ego F can hide behind when she feels ornery (95% of the time).

As a child, I was hooked on Disney too. I was Mickey Mouse. Similar woes betided those who felt I might not actually be that entity, I'm sure. Chief of those was that I decided everyone else in the household needed a Disney Character to be referred to as, and Dad got the roughest end of the stick when I decided he was Pluto the dog.

I am well served. I am now Tinkerbell.