When I grow up to be a man – and they tell me it has to happen one day – I want to be just like the boy reporter.

I want everything he has.

I want his quiff, I want his continental dress sense, I want whatever juice he's got on his editor which means he's allowed to continually travel the world on expenses, even though he's only ever filed one story.

That's the kind of journalistic work rate I could get used to.

He may be a fictional cartoon but Tintin's iconic status is pure fact.

He's a drawn demi-god, a Herge hero, animation to put your faith in.
Sure, I could live without the constant casual violence, occasional death threat and lack of female attention (although to be fair that sounds like an average night out in Halifax).

And of course Snowy, his trusty wire fox terrier, would have to go before he got the chance to mess up my trusty brown shoes.

But fighting and dogs aside, Tintin has it all. Youthful good looks, vast knowledge reserves, an ability to speak every language known to man and a salty old sea captain who follows him everywhere he goes.
So my answer, Calderdale College, is Tintin.

They asked – via a new advertising campaign – and there's my reply.
My inspiration isn't the bloke who Deep Throat-ed Nixon, it's not Lester Bangs, it's not even the old hack who, over pints of Barnsley Bitter, once told me to separate every story's wheat from its chaff, and write up only the chaff.

It's a fictional Belgian adolescent.

And why not? For if your inspiration is a cartoon you don't have to worry about him disappointing you. Or, vice-versa, you disappointing him.

Because inspiration is nothing if not a two-way relationship, right?
It comes with responsibilities and duties. It comes with the implicit expectation you should act on your admiration.

Which can be a bit depressing if the person you look up to, for example, is Alan Bean.

Because no matter how hard you try or how much you want it, you're never going to be the fourth man on the moon. Which means that you can only ever let yourself down. Which means ambition – all ambition, any ambition – destroys you in the end.

Except that kind of attitude isn't very inspiring, is it? And it's probably not the kind of answer the college is looking for.

And that means I'm not going to win that laptop for having the best response.

Which is rubbish because when I'm like Tintin I'll need a way of sending that single story from the forests of Central America.

What would the boy reporter think of that? He'd be disappointed in me, of course.