Where can I get a pair of Darcey Bussell ballet shoes?

The Royal Ballet fails to capitalise on the esteem in which it is held

My 12-year-old daughter, like the daughters of an awful lot of people, goes to dancing classes. I ruminated on that while I was watching Darcey Bussell and Sylvie Guillem in Tuesday night's compelling Royal Ballet gala in front of the Queen at Covent Garden.

I hasten to add I'm not claiming any stylistic similarities. That would break new ground in pushy parenting. My thoughts were actually on the dancing shoes. I have on occasion ventured into shops to buy these shoes, and I have never noticed any bearing the name or endorsement of the Royal Ballet.

Go into a sports shop and every tennis racket will bear the legend "as used by" followed by Venus Williams, Martina Hingis or whoever. But you'll look in vain for a Royal Ballet shoe with Darcey's porcelain features or Sylvie's seductive pout on the box. A phone call to the Royal Ballet confirms my theory that they don't get involved in any such endorsements.

Why? Why has high culture such reticence to get down there and exploit its international reputation to bring in hard cash? Tuesday night showed the wealth of talent in the Royal Ballet, and the genuine charisma and star quality of their principals. But, for all the massive interest in dance, they remain known only to a relatively small and select audience.

And the Royal Ballet fails to capitalise on the esteem in which it is held. For all the flak Adrian Noble has received in the last couple of years at the Royal Shakespeare Company, he has made great strides in exploiting the company's international reputation, setting up an American board to get sponsorship and hiring a top literary agent who can, among other things, get the RSC name on Shakespeare texts and make a profit from it. The Royal Ballet could do with a dose of that entrepreneurship.

The arts all too seldom get space on major political programmes on TV; but there was a chance to explain a key area of arts policy to a television audience with Thursday's appointment of Michael Boyd as Mr Noble's successor as artistic director of the Royal Shakespeare Company.

What a pity then that Mr Boyd came across in his Newsnight interview as secretive and unaccountable. Asked where he stood on his predecessor's controversial plans for the future of the company, he replied that he would quietly drop some parts, but refused to say which. Neither would he say which parts he was in favour of, even when reminded by his interviewer that the public, who pay for the RSC, might be entitled to know. Clarity is not a feature of change, he declared. Somebody should quietly remind him, for future television interviews, that the RSC is a national company, subsidised by the taxpayer. It is not a secret society.

*There has been a bit of a scandal down at Chichester where Lucy Bailey, an acclaimed director with a National Theatre hit behind her, parted company with the Festival Theatre during rehearsals of Cabaret. Her production was considered too raunchy for the audience's tastes by the theatre head, Andrew Welch. She says he particularly objected to the song "Money Makes the World Go Round" being sung by two men and a woman naked in a bubble bath. Ms Bailey's offered compromise of giving them underwear was not accepted.

I met Mr Welch two years ago and we discussed changes he wanted to bring in at the theatre. This is what he told me, and what I reported at the time: "The audience is conservative and it is too old... I want Chichester to be a cutting-edge theatre. Some of my present audience will say 'It's not for us.' So be it." He would, he said, consider "nudity" and "shock-drama". What a difference two years in the West Sussex air makes.

*This week I belatedly caught up with We Will Rock You, the Queen musical with book by Ben Elton. I was intrigued to see it, as when it opened in May it received the worst and most vitriolic reviews I can ever remember a West End show receiving. As it happens, although there was room for improvement in plot and choice of songs, I found it a diverting and harmless piece of gorgeously sung fun.

But what really surprised me was that the house was full and there was a queue for returns. That, I gather, is the case every night. London has never quite been New York, where lousy overnight reviews can close a show. But Britain's reviewers must begin to wonder when their worst venom merely succeeds in having the "House Full" notices go up.

Are theatre critics, weaned on a diet of straight plays and intellectual analysis, perhaps the wrong people to review rock musicals? Do audiences not care too much about flaws in the plot, if the music and special effects are dazzling? Should producers stop worrying about reviews, as word of mouth (aided in this case by a couple of songs from the show at the televised Jubilee pop concert) is clearly more powerful? Discuss.

d.lister@independent.co.uk