'Do you like it?'' asks my seven-year-old.
''What is it?''
''It's a pineapple,'' says the budding Cezanne.
''Then why is it orange?'' I reply. He looks up from his drawing of a fruit bowl with a crestfallen expression.
I am, once again, pricked by guilt at my poor parenting. I know I am meant to compliment him, but I just can't bring myself to do so when his felt-tip on A4 effort lacks perspective, scale, or any skill.
His flurry of tries at the weekend's tag-rugby match were warmly applauded, his seven-letter effort while watching Countdown was high-fived. But to praise him for a dismal drawing, where the pear and the banana are indistinguishable from each other seems perverse.
I refuse to do so, even if it causes a sulk. But I am fighting a losing battle. A report this week provides more ammunition to those who would wreathe the world in a garland of compliments.
A team of Japanese researchers at the National Institute for Physiological Sciences has discovered that the more a person is complimented the more the striatum part of their brain is stimulated, and the better they perform a task.
''Compliments are as good as cash at making us work harder,'' ran the ensuing headline.
I am not convinced. Apart from the fact this is another ''scientific study'' with about as much rigour as an investigation into the nation's favourite dog food based on the droolings of 10 poodles, there is something fundamentally flawed about the conclusion.
Professor Sadato, who tested a grand total of 48 people, says: ''There seems to be scientific validity behind the message 'praise to encourage improvement'. Complimenting someone could become an easy and effective strategy to use in the classroom.'' That is precisely the problem. Paying a compliment is easy. And we have done it all too often in the name of building self-esteem in children.
My children frequently come back with ''Headteacher's Award'' silver stickers on their primary-school jumpers. When I inquire what they have been given for - hoping to hear a stirring tale of how Fermat's theorem was cracked in break time - I hear the inevitable: ''Oh, everyone in our class got one.''
This is in sharp contrast to the school I attended. The headmaster was the formidable Dennis Silk, an old-fashioned, eagle-headed figure who equated the wearing of suede shoes with drug taking. However, he had charm and manners in spades and would dash off what were known as ''silkograms'', carefully constructed gushes of praise to his pupils. They were incredibly rare. You were lucky to receive one a year and they were only sent after some heroic act on the playing field or classroom. To see his scrawling black ink on an envelope was enough to make your heart jump with pride.
But it was the rarity, as unusual as £50 note in a Tesco cash point, that made them so valuable.
Now, people expect to be complimented on a daily basis. One of my most awkward meals was at a disappointing French restaurant when the chef, with Napoleonic self-regard, toured the tables scouting for compliments at the end of the meal.
I tried to slink further down in my seat in the hope he would bypass our table. But, no, like a potty-training baby, he wanted to be applauded for doing his job. I mumbled that, yes, the meal was nice. ''But what did you like about it?'' he pushed.
It is just not very British to offer compliments, especially when they are sought out by a needy supplicant.
Dr Jean Twenge, the psychologist and author of Narcissism Epidemic, points out that this culture of compliments ''puts the cart before the horse''.
Surely, when we work hard and perform well at school or at our businesses we develop high self-esteem, not the other way around.
And when it comes to persuading me to stay late in the office, it is no contest whether a compliment or a pay rise, is likely to work. My editor knows where to find my bank account details.
London Daily Telegraph