My new girl nerves at Mumsnet Academy There are reassuring cups of tea being handed out and clipboards for the keenies who want to take notes as Fernyhough, a likeable chap, who doesn't turn a hair when a sudden crescendo of crybabying drowns him out, leads us through the development of consciousness. "Do babies have synaesthesia?" ponders Fernyhough, as he moots the notion that tiny babies might experience colours as sounds. I'm tempted to cry "Who cares, as long as the little blighters sleep through!" but I hold my tongue. After all, what's the point of attending Skool if you know all the answers? Years ago there was a seminal advertising campaign for Carlsberg, which presented a utopian vision of Jack Charlton, Bobby Charlton and Peter Beardsley having a kickabout, with the payoff line "Carlsberg don't do pub teams, but if they did, they'd probably be the best pub team in the world." I was reminded of the campaign when I first heard about the launch of the Mumsnet Academy. Is my Boden frock in the wash? Did I leave my LK Bennetts on that sleepover? I need a new Smythson pencil case! Like, right now! Given that logging on to the average MNer forum is like pitting your wits against Dorothy Parker in full, acerbic flight, my instinctive fear was that Mumsnet Academy would be more Mean Girls than High School Musical. And how would I get in? Would I have to hijack the children's tutor and pass exams in Parma ham production or write a dissertation using only impenetrable Mumsnet acronyms? Apparently not. It's a (gasp!) fee-paying academy, which won't go down well with the Leftie contingent. Except it will, because a great many of the courses have been suggested by Mumsnetters. Ker-ching! As a result, it looks set to be a money-spinner; today's course cost £35. The How To Get Your Novel Published weekend is £299 and the family pasta-making masterclass is £100 - for three hours. It's so inspired, I wish I'd thought of it. But then, deep down, I wish I'd thought of Mumsnet, which is possibly why I feel so ambivalent about it. "The Mumsnet Academy is the natural extension of Mumsnet as a place for people to come and exchange ideas and swap experiences," says Patrick Keogh, a consultant for the company. The difference is that there's someone in the room leading that conversation. The community is quite vocal so when we suggest courses, they will respond; Mumsnet is all about having a voice and hopefully we're listening to that. Keogh dismisses the charge of elitism, citing practical courses such as Feed a Family for a Fortnight and DIY, before amiably observing: "Just because something doesn't appeal to everyone, doesn't make it elitist." He's right, of course. But bearing in mind the Woody Allen approach to joining clubs, I do find myself wrestling with the love-it, hate-it conundrum. While I am locked in cognitive dissonance, Tabitha, who gets excellent practice at sitting unnaturally still at Church, gets hopelessly bored after the statutory hour has passed. Truth be told, I tuned out not long after Fernyhough conjured up a 3D model of the brain and got stuck into the somatosensory cortex. But other, cleverer women around me are engrossed, and taking multitasking to a whole new level by bandying about terms like "modality" and "occipital lobe," while breastfeeding and eating lemon drizzle cake. "I've got a real interest in my baby's brain," says Anji Pendleton, a management consultant and mother of Esme, aged 16 months. And I'm a fan of Mumsnet; it offered such wonderful support when I was having difficulty breast-feeding. I think I would have stopped, had I not been given such great advice and encouragement. Marge Brown, a GP and mother of Patrick, 11 weeks, had come along with a friend from her National Childbirth Trust group - to be honest, Mumsnet won't thank me for saying so, but the whole thing is like a really posh NCT meeting, with a much better calibre of mummy mates than you're likely to meet in any area where most of us can afford a house. "We usually go on a lot of walks, or to places like the V&A Museum," says Dr Brown. It's important to do things that stimulate our minds. There is no Mumsnet Academy building and certainly nothing on the scale of Francis Fowke's Victorian masterpiece in South Kensington. Yet. But, when you think about it, the brashest new city academies are privately sponsored by individuals or organisations, so time will tell if a suitable benefactor turns up. Doesn't The Waitrose Wing have a certain ring to it? Perhaps housing The Johnnie B Centre for Balsamic Vinegar Studies? Until that historic day, the main venue for the Mumsnet Academy is the intriguingly named School of Life, a shop and meeting room where thinkers like the school's founder, Alain de Botton, psychologist Oliver James and Germaine Greer meet and address issues and deliver thought-provoking sermons concerned with living "wisely and well." It's a far cry from the school run and getting the dog wormed and booking dental appointments for everyone and swinging by the dry-cleaner and taking sausages out of the freezer and putting in a full day's work in between. But maybe that's why there appears to be such a demand for a moment's head space? Offspring are welcome, which is a bonus for busy parents, although it does slightly defeat the me-time purpose if you've got to schlep the baby along, or indeed hold an extravagantly bilious three-year-old. And, hand on heart, I'm tempted. Forthcoming events include Mindfulness for Mums, Keeping the Spark Alive and Having It All. Doesn't that all sound gloriously epiphanic? Yes, I am aware that this navel-gazing is achingly middle class. But then, I am achingly middle class, so I should probably stop evading my destiny. Besides, with so many Mumsnetters in the room, someone is bound to know how to get the icky smell of children's vomit off my clothes.