So why can't the girls be given a Roboraptor instead of a doll?

Published on Tuesday 6 December 2005 02:11

I QUITE fancy a Roboraptor for Christmas. I'm not entirely sure what it is, or indeed what it is that it does, but I rather like the idea of it all the same. Perhaps I could order it to keep sentry over my desk at work, or scare away double-glazing salesmen from my front door.

But alas, I am a girl, and can only dream of such things as Roboraptors and Robosapiens. Little girls this year can, however, look forward to Amazing Amanda dolls, Barbie dolls and Bratz dolls in their Christmas stockings. They will also be able to rest easy in the knowledge that they have managed to burn less of a hole in Mummy and Daddy's pocket than their little brother.

Along with the lists of this year's top five toys for boys and girls (girls: doll, Furby, doll, doll, doll; boys: Roboraptor, Playstation, Robosapien, Cyber Shocker, Lightsaber), comes the news that parents spend, on average, 100 more on boys than girls at Christmas. Looking at the lists above, it's not hard to see why. With the heavy emphasis on electronic equipment, boys' presents are far more likely to pull on the purse-strings than a few dollies.

What amazes me, though, is how traditionally aligned these gifts are towards the child's sex. While I have no doubt that little girls are demanding that their parents buy them the Bratz Baby Doll, that demand will in turn have been driven by the advert they saw on TV for said doll in the first place. Who knows if a girl would really rather play with a doll than a Roboraptor? What would happen if we tried to find out?

Surely it's time we stopped imposing sugar and spice on our young girls and let them have a go at the boys' toys. I'd put money on the Roboraptor being a big hit, even if they did use it to keep the boys away from their Bratz dolls.

I AM, apparently, going straight to hell, although I think the handcart is optional. This is not the belief, I hasten to add, of my dear mother (although she may have argued differently the year I turned 13) but of a significant number of Scotland's churchmen.

A survey of 750 ministers and priests by a theology lecturer at the University of St Andrews has revealed that a third of them believe in hell. A majority also reckon there will be a Judgment Day, with folk separated into categories entitled "the saved" and "the lost". A bit like the ticket barrier at Waverley station then.

According to these fearsome clergymen, I would be segregated along with the "lost" folk for (a) drinking alcohol and/or (b) failing to have "specific Christian beliefs". From there I would be cattle-prodded on to the nearest downwards escalator, where I would be subjected to (a) "eternal mental anguish" and/or (b) "eternal physical torment".

Reading about this, there was, I confess, a brief pause before the glass of Sauvignon reached my lips. Frankly though, I remain to be convinced (although doubtless this is part of the problem, what with failing to have "specific Christian beliefs" and all).

For what is the point in threatening fire and brimstone if no-one can agree what colour they are? Apparently the study found that clergy didn't necessarily follow "official" doctrine, with members of the same church sometimes holding opposing beliefs. While I'm all for diversity within religion, and the right to hold different views while singing, quite literally, from the same hymn-sheet, if the idea of hell is to terrify your followers, then the fact that they can't agree on what constitutes it somewhat dilutes its impact. You might as well tell them that hell would be a lifetime surrounded by Barbie dolls. Come to think of it, that really would be hellish.

SCIENTISTS at the Japanese car manufacturer Nissan have apparently developed a paint that repairs its own scratches. The coating, the first of its kind in the world, contains an elastic resin which gives the paint a rubbery surface that merely bounces back when it receives a knock or a scrape.

What on earth is wrong with these people? Are they insane? What do they think they're doing, applying this technology to noisy, inanimate objects with engines when they could have given the skincare industry a call? At the age of 28, and with the first gentle scratches of crows' feet adorning my eyelids, I can think of no product more appealing to apply to my face than a paint-like substance that provides a smooth, sheer coating and resists all wear and tear. Mr Nissan, please telephone Mr L'Oral immediately.