Barbie takes up the baton
She's been accused of promoting an unrealistic body image. She's been sold a billion times over. Now in her late 40s, Barbara Millicent Roberts, or Barbie as she is better known, hopes her pink magic will inspire young children to listen to classical music and even take up an instrument.
Barbie at the Symphony is a compendium of the doll's movies, accompanied by a full live orchestra. Think Disney's Fantasia but without the trippy elephants. Expect to hear excerpts from Beethoven's Sixth Symphony and Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker while Barbie and friends do their thing on the big screen behind the orchestra.
"The average age of people who go to the symphony is 55, but we know from our research that girls like the classical music in our movies," says Kirsty Bullen of Mattel, Barbie's maker.
"Our target audience is three- to nine-year-olds. We want to give mums an opportunity to take their girls to the symphony, but in a much more accessible way that is fun."
Apparently, Barbie is about the arts. Following the British release of the first Barbie arts movie, Swan Lake, and an accompanying ballet initiative with Darcey Bussell, the number of young girls attending ballet classes rose by 15%. Mattel is looking for a similar increase in the popularity of music lessons following Barbie at the Symphony.
There is increasing awareness about the effect classical music has on education, and last year, the government announced that more money would be made available for music in schools. A number of studies point to the benefits, including improved confidence. "We are aware of the research that has gone on, which is one of the reasons why we created Barbie at the Symphony," says Bullen.
Matt Keating
· Barbie at the Symphony kicks off at Liverpool Philharmonic Hall on December 27, then goes to Glasgow and the rest of the UK. Teacher packs are available on www.barbieteacherpacks.co.uk/
Is your MP as fit as mine?
Could three minutes with a politician be enough to turn Britain's youngsters on to politics? Students from schools across the country were given the chance to speed-date politicians at Westminster last week - and there was positive feedback from both sides.
The justice minister, Bridget Prentice, one of the organisers, thought the young people were genuinely engaged by the chance to get up close and personal. And what's more, the politicians - who included the Lord Chancellor, Jack Straw, MPs and local councillors - learned a thing or two about teenagers and their issues.
"There were 150 young people there from all sorts of backgrounds, and many would never have had a chance to talk one-to-one with an MP or councillor," says Prentice. "It was great fun, but more than that it gave the youngsters the chance to put their views to politicians, and to ask them the questions they thought were relevant."
Amie Wilson, 16, a pupil at Whalley Range High School in Manchester, says she asked what was involved in politicians' jobs. "I was really interested to hear that you could have another job as well as being a councillor," she says. "It was quite inspiring - the MPs said that if we wanted to make a difference, we really could." Melyssa Pearson, 15, was impressed that politicians wanted to listen to young people. "It was good that they wanted to hear what we had to say, as well as the other way round," she says. "But one thing I wonder is, what's going to happen next? Was it just a PR exercise, or will it make a real difference?"
Her teacher, Jennifer Winters, says: "It was a really positive exercise, but I think what we need now is to know we've made some difference. It would be nice to see politicians listening more often to young people's views and acting on what they hear."
And Peter Czajkowski, head of PSHE and citizenship at Park View academy in Haringey, north London, adds: "The students were asked to score the politicians on, for example, how knowledgeable they were. It helped them understand what political life and democracy are all about."
Joanna Moorhead
Academian rhapsody
"Don't take this the wrong way," says my new young PhD supervisor, hand resting on my draft thesis. "I think you should attend some undergraduate lectures. Theory has moved on since your day."
A mid-life crisis and floundering career in social research have taken me back to university to resurrect my long-lost doctorate. Unlike Brian May, who recently competed his PhD after a 30-year gap, I haven't had a globally successful rock band to occupy me in the meantime, just work, children and a gnawing feeling of regret that I didn't complete my thesis the first time round. My friends think that I'm brave, but there's a fine line between courage and idiocy.
My supervisor is worried I might be insulted by having to brush up on the basics. But all I care about is what it will cost to travel at peak hour every week to attend. How your priorities change in 23 years.
Enrolment day is not an auspicious start. The registrar has trouble finding my file, but eventually realises the problem: "Ah! I remember. You're the special one."
I've thrown the system off-balance, confusing everyone. My enrolment form isn't typed out and ready for me, so the relevant information has to be looked up while the queue grows behind me.
Then my student number has to be found. "Start date," mutters the hassled registrar, searching for my details. "Ah here we are: 1984?"
Yes, I've been out of the academic loop that long. Whatever made me think I could just walk straight back in? The whole enterprise suddenly seems absurd.
Now back home with my books, files and field notes, I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. I'm looking up at the mountain that I still have to climb and remembering the graft, the pain and the agony of it all first time around.
My friends tell me I'll regret it if I don't do it. I can't help worrying I'll regret it if I do.
Miranda Irving