Which Childhood Dream Job Should You Actually Be Doing?

Sometimes., usually when you're making tea for your colleagues just to avoid looking at them for five minutes, you wonder what might have been. What if mum hadn't refused to drive you to the X Factor auditions that time because 'dad needs the car and you're a bit off key anyway'? What if you hadn't bowed to pressure to 'get a bloody haircut or you'll never get a real job!' and instead focused on your budding music career? You could've been married to Perrie Edwards by now and had Lena Dunham. as your BFF

You love taking centre stage at meetings (even when you have fuck all to contribute) and you have been known to sing loudly on the night bus home. Your dreary office gig may be limiting your opportunities to belt out Christina Aguilera classics to a live studio audience but the X Factor's just about still going and you still wouldn't quite be in the 'Over 25s'. Failing that, there's always The Voice.

What gets your goat about your new job the most is how little attention your colleagues pay you. Gone are the days when you could argue with your seminar leader for attention, now if you're lucky if someone wishes you a 'nice weekend' without looking at you as they leave the office on a Friday afternoon. The only thing you really excel at in your current role is pretending not to hate your colleagues and that you're rather good at, if you say so yourself. You're wasted on the world of recruitment/ accountancy/ retail/ refuse collection, trust us. Get yourself in front of the camera quick sharp.

Back when calling people 'boff' was a thing, you copped a lot of shit. Now the people who took the piss out of you for getting A*s in all your science GCSEs are begging you to suss out why their emails aren't working (their inbox is usually full) and you are the go-to person in the office when people forget about the existence of Google.

You, my friend, belong in a rocket ship. You're a geek, but the cool kind who still likes an adventure and will stay for that extra ill-advised pint at the Christmas Party. Kick your marketing job into touch and get your space helmet on.

Your brain is full of loads of useful stuff which is currently wasted on your overpaid boss and unfortunate Twitter followers. You wouldn't be caught dead drinking a JD and coke on a night out when there are a gazillion bizarre cocktails just itching to be created. But why waste your talents on your unworthy friends and insufferable colleagues? There's a whole world of un-invented stuff out there that needs inventing. Thomas Edison is sooooo 1879.

Four years on, and you still won't shut up about that year you spent 'finding yourself' by lassoing sheep (badly) and pissing off locals in the outback. You still haven't accepted that no one cares, and you would give anything to monetise your #wanderlust. You're forever boring your at best indifferent colleagues with your holiday plans (usually involving a Ryanair flight followed by five nights hunkering down with bedbugs) and it's really time to take your talents elsewhere.

You're the 'responsible' friend. When your mate's had one too many jagerbombs you're always the one to yell 'put him in the recovery position or he might choke on his own sick and die!' only to be roundly ignored by your (more fun) peers. You'd've made a great doctor, if you were only arsed with spending five years at uni. But hey, it's never too late, right?

You're smart and actually give a shit about people's problems. Whether you'd be the same when confronted with their warts and phlegm-y coughs is another question altogether.

Somewhere down the line your beautiful five-year-old ambitions to protect your fellow man got a little lost. Whether it was the moment you discovered White Ace tastes really great when drunk in your local park or the fact that you once thought it was (sort of) cool to say 'fuck da police' , you'll never know. But now that you're in the grips of a terrifyingly boring office job your student desires to legalise cannabis have fallen by the wayside, and you're ready to join the feds.

Your friends admire you for your moral fibre and (sometimes annoying) regard for the rules. You just like the idea of carrying a truncheon and occasionally being allowed outside. How hard can it be?

Let's face it, your talents are wasted on writing passive aggressive emails which open with 'I hope you had a lovely weekend!'. Your boss doesn't understand you and your colleagues couldn't cobble together a Mills & Boon novel. You should really be in a coffee shop somewhere typing furiously on your Mac and staring dreamily out the window. Go on, you owe it to the world.