When I was about seven years old, I had a neighbour named Jemima who used to spend a lot of time at my house. She had strawberry blonde hair and her two biggest loves were marshmallows and Tinkerbell. I remember the latter so clearly because we would spend hours siphoning flour (magic fairy dust) onto our heads and jumping off the arm of the couch in an attempt to fly. One day she was straining so hard to think happy thoughts she crapped her pants and had to go home early in a fit of tears. A few years ago I looked her up on Facebook. She was still living at home with a pimply boyfriend she’d had since she was 16 and working at Bunnings Warehouse to pay for her World of Warcraft habit. What happened to the girl who believed so much in magic and in her ability to fly that she actually shit herself?