It might surprise you, dear reader, to know that the question most commonly asked of the Crikey team is not “Has First Dog ever really been to the moon?” ( It’s probably something to do with subscriptions, but that hardly makes for a blog post.)

So here’s our response to another question that was getting batted round the office this morning:

When you were eight, what did you want to be when you grew up?

Sophie Black, Crikey editor: Embarrassingly and entirely unimaginatively, in a Grade 2 story that I wrote as a six-year-old and entitled ‘What I Want to be When I Grow Up’, I wrote, verbatim: “I will drink lots of coffee, have a baby called Sarah and drive a gold Ford car.” 1 out of 3 ain’t bad. In my later primary school years, I wanted to be a scientist, to “work for the UN” and a novelist. 0 for 0 there.

Mick the Sub: A grown-up.

Leigh Josey, production manager: A vet. Then my rabbit Kodak had to put down and realised that I couldn’t do that. Then I wanted to be a political cartoonist … then I met First Dog.

Ruth Brown, website editor: Circa 8 years of age, I had lofty dreams of being a robotic engineer. I knew absolutely nothing about electronics, but used to sticky tape old circuit boards to my Sega controller, positive that if I did it juuuust right, the contraption would suddenly spring into action.

I actually remember quite vividly lying awake at night and running through the following fantasy over and over in my mind:

It is well past 9am. The other children in class 2/3M are already in their seats, quietly toiling away with their morning maths test. Suddenly, the door bursts open, and in steps a young girl sporting well-worn blue overalls, one strap hanging casually unbuckled, a line of black grease smudged across her cheek. In her hand is a large remote control covered in buttons, dials, a joystick, flashing lights and a long antenna.

“Sorry I’m late,’ she says to Mrs Macdonald and her gaping classmates, “I was just busy finishing this…”

She flicks a switch on the remote control and pushes the joystick forward. Suddenly, an imposing figure fills the doorway: it is a robot

The boxy metallic beast rolls into the room on tank-style track wheels, its eyes glow yellow, lights flash, and makes bleeping and blooping noises as it obediently hands the girl her school bag with its claw.

Mrs Macdonald and the children are speechless — even the teachers’ pet, whose recent A+ project on space (that was clearly done by his mum anyway but received extra gold star stickers and gushing praise from Mrs Macdonald) is long forgotten.

But it is all in a day’s work for the girl, who coolly takes her desk as the robot rolls in beside her, ready to receive more instructions.

She does not have to sit the maths test.

Andrew Crook, journalist: I remember being obsessed with mocking up fictional newspapers, which would suggest somewhere in the media, but in truth I probably just wanted to stay young.

First Dog on the Moon, cartoonist:

The finest actor of my generation.

Amber Jamieson, journalist: I had an absolute sense of certainty that I would be very famous. I know all kids had that, but I would look at them and be like “What morons! Obviously they will never be famous! But I will be.” I assumed I would either get famous for being an author (children’s books), a dancer (jazz) or some type of newsreader (Getaway). Actually, I thought I would be more like a “personality”, a combination of all these witty talents that would bring fame and fortune. I even had a stage name worked out and I would practise my autograph all the time.

Flint Duxfield, intern: Somewhere between Diego Maradona (the soccer bit, not the addictions) and a preschool teacher. Which I guess would have made me something of a Prima-donna.