As a child, I had a very over-active imagination.
As a result, I had some pretty outlandish plans for what I was going to achieve when I grew up and became an adult.
I have officially been an adult for several years now and I am yet to achieve any of the goals that I set out for myself when I was five.
I haven’t written a novel (unless you count the Warrior Cats fan-fiction that I wrote when I was 13…) and I know from previous experience that I can’t be trusted to keep a house plant alive for an extended period of time, let alone five ponies.
I’m not famous and the closest I’ve come to going to space was the time I went to see Gravity at the cinema and paid £5 extra for an ‘immersive’ IMAX experience, which basically meant that my seat vibrated a little bit whenever Sandra Bullock was in the middle of an action sequence or an explosion.
What five-year old me didn’t realise is that being an adult (aka. someone who is self-sufficient, responsible, financially and emotionally stable and just generally has their life more or less under control) can be a hard enough task in itself.
Nowadays, the goals that I set for myself tend to be slightly less outlandish.