My stubby, and usually grubby, nearly-three-year-old fingers would frantically turn the pages of a book – anything from a well-thumbed atlas to a mouth-wateringly illustrated cookery manual – as I dreamt up accompanying tales in my head. From the pirate who fell off the edge of the world into a sea of dreams to the naughty jam sponge who swallowed all the spoons, nothing was beyond my imagination.

Two years later, primary one taught me how to actually commit those adventures to paper. From the minute I was given my first word – ‘the’ etched in fragrant black marker on a yellow cardboard strip and kept securely in an old Band-Aid tin – I was hooked. ‘The’ was quickly joined by ‘car’, ‘dog’, ‘red’ and soon I could create sentences. As time passed, each morning I would wake at the crack of dawn and scribble down, on the back of dad’s discarded buff work envelopes, the latest tale I’d formulated in my sleep.

When I was eight, all my Christmases came at once, quite literally, as Santa delivered me the means to create these stories more professionally in the shape of the Petite De-Luxe portable typewriter. An electric blue plastic instrument of my dreams, with deliciously clickety-click white keys and a sticky jet-black ribbon, complete with a lockable grey marbled carry-case. Deep joy! It not only fired my imagination, but it also shaped my determination to become a writer when I grew up.

After numerous typewriter ribbons down the line, I accepted a job offer as editorial assistant at the legendary Dundee institution of DC Thomson & Co – my first post in a journalistic career that’s now spanned over 40 years.

Fast forward to year 39, or thereabouts, of that career and a request from the venerable V&A, gearing up to open its first design museum in Scotland, as to which iconic object I would consign to this new Dundee-based building. No debate. The electric blue shell may have cracked, its final ribbon long dry of ink and keys clicking a little less soundly these days, but my Petite De-Luxe was the only contender.

And that’s how the visions of a three-year-old, via a photo of this vintage plastic typewriter, became the global advertising collateral of the publishing firm where I began my journey, on the eve of the museum opening.

Dream big, little one – imagination has no limits.