Why a PhD? Why now?

For years I have been bullshitting about what kids learn about moving image media before they start school. For example:

"Given that children start to engage with and enjoy moving-image media in their second year of life – often in contexts with little or no adult mediation – then it seems probable that from an early stage they manage to acquire some understanding of the distinctive codes and conventions employed in these media, and start to develop strategies for making sense of all kinds of text (both print and non-print). "

I've used versions of this paragraph in various presentations for at least 10 years as a way of arguing that literacy teaching in schools needs to change. It's not entirely pulled out of thin air: I've gained in confidence in making this claim the more I meet teachers who are flabbergasted by the level of understanding demonstrated by children when they talk about film (as opposed to when they talk about books - if they do).

But I've always felt that I ought to stop and take the time to research this properly. When I started work at the BFI in 1979, I was registered for a PhD at the Institute of Education, for which I was going to explore a similar topic. But it soon became obvious that working at the BFI was not going to be a full-time job: it was going to be a lot more than a full-time job. 27 years later - white-haired, overweight and exhausted - I finally escaped from the BFI only to land in the frying-pan of two years' unpaid work, chairing the Media Education Association.

Now at last I feel properly ready for new things. When I first started to ponder the idea of starting a PhD, I thought that surely this topic must already have been researched and written about. But the more I looked, the more confident I became that no, probably it hasn't, or at least not in the way I intend to approach it. Then in January this year while on holiday with the family I observed my twin 14-month-old grandchildren suddenly terrorised by episodes of In the Night Garden - episodes that they knew well and had seen many times before. I was fascinated. Was this an example of a half-developed sense of narrative - the ability to perceive disruption without the capacity to anticipate resolution? I wanted to know more.

Seven months later (during which time I've also, completely coincidentally, lost 12 kilos) here I am, about to embark on formal research, with the twins as the focus of an ethnographic study that I hope will help me develop these ideas more coherently. I've tidied my office, spruced up my website, found two supervisors, filmed 2 hours of twins' TV-watching and started a reading list. Several good friends have tried to put me off this project: "why don't you just write a book?" they ask. My argument is that "just writing" is precisely what I have been doing for years. I am sick of grinding out rhetoric: I want to assemble evidence. Watch this space.