Yes, I do have indulgences.
There are only two, really. Two big ones. Theyâre hot buttered toast with golden syrup on, and Childrenâs BBC. And, well, actually, now I come to think of it, there is sort of a third. My parents always hated the idea of my name being shortened, but now I tell people to call me not âEdmundâ, but âEddieâ.
All right, you could say Iâm reacting, greedily taking the things I wasnât allowed when I was a child, but I donât think mineâre too bad, as indulgences go. Other people do much worse things.
And by Papaâs rules . . . you know, about not doing harm to another member of humankind . . . well, I canât honestly think that my indulgences harm anyone. No matter how much Childrenâs BBC I watch and video, no matter how much hot buttered toast with golden syrup I eat, nobody else gets hurt by it.
Mind you, the golden syrup does make me fat. I was always big â used to get rather unkind things said about my size when I was at school â but since Mama died, I have got a lot bigger. She used to keep an eye on how much golden syrup I ate, used to say, âHold back, Edmund, enough is enough, you know,â but since she died . . . well, thereâs no one to stop me. But, like I said, nobody gets hurt by it.
Iâm lucky. I know Iâm lucky. My parents left me enough money so that I wonât ever have to work. Probably thatâs just as well, because the few interviews I did have for jobs didnât turn out very well. I think my size put people off, partly, and then they did seem to ask very difficult questions. I admit there are a lot of things I donât know about, and the subjects on which I am good . . . like Childrenâs BBC . . . well, they didnât ask about them. The experience rather put me off applying for other jobs.
But Iâm lucky, too, in that I have friends. Not that many, but there are some children round where I live and I get on well with them. They know about Childrenâs BBC, you see, so weâve got things to talk about. I often meet them in the park, near the childrenâs playground. Iâm too big to go on any of the swings or anything . . . Iâd probably break them if I did, Iâm such a big lump . . . but itâs a good place to meet the children.
I get on better with them when theyâre on their own. I buy sweets for them. Never go out without a couple of bags of jelly babies in my pockets. The children like those. (So do I, actually!) But I only give them sweets when theyâre on their own. Their parents donât seem to like the children talking to me. Sometimes they say rather cruel things. Things that wouldnât pass muster under Papaâs rules. Iâm another member of humankind, and the things they say
do
do harm to me. Whatâs more, I think they do it knowingly.
Still, in the park I quite often see children on their own, so itâs not all bad. I tell them to call me âEddieâ. I like it when I hear their little voices call me âEddieâ. Of course, the children get bigger and seem to lose interest in talking about Childrenâs BBC with me. But thereâs always another lot of little ones growing up.
Iâve got so many childrenâs programmes videoed that I sometimes think I should ask some of the children to come back home with me to have a good watch and lashings of hot buttered toast with golden syrup. But I havenât done that yet. I donât know why, but something tells me itâs a bad idea.
And now, after some of the questions Iâve been asked in the last few months, I know my instinct was right. It would have been a very bad idea.
My problems . . . yes, I suppose I have to call them problems . . . began in relation to a little girl called Bethany Jones. I didnât know her second name when I met her. She just told me she was called âBethanyâ. But recently her nameâs