Bliss? I think not.

Yes, yes, I know. I should just drop it. If I was mature, I'd let it go. But I'm a 32 year old only child, and further to my mother calling me ignorant, my father has now - without directly jumping on the 'my daughter is a moron' bandwagon - kindly pointed out that it is "possible to be both intelligent and ignorant".

Now. Back up there, Sparky. I'm pretty sure I'm right here, but I'll just check on the off-chance... no, I'm right. Ignorance, as defined on The Internet, is "the state or fact of being ignorant; lack of knowledge, learning, information, etc." I think it's fair to say that the Venn diagrams of ignorance and intelligence don't seem to have much intersection. I suspect my father would say, therefore, that it is possible for one to be intelligent in one field , e.g. about pop music of the late Eighties and early Nineties, while being ignorant in another, e.g. the Conservative party or the value of living in Putney. And maybe he's right. But I think it's fair to say that I've done enough research on both Putney and the Tories to know that I'm not going to change my mind about them in a hurry. And I know that the opinions I hold on both subjects are not unusual.

So - my mother thinks I'm wrong about Cameron, and wrong about Clapham. And I think I'm right. And we both think we are intelligent beings, and that the other one is fundamentally wrong. And we can't both be right - the Conservative party is either going to make Britain great again, or it's not; and Clapham is either populated by blinkered idiots or rammed full of Lovely Young Men I Should Be Marrying. So if we can't both be right, at least one of us must be wrong. But of course, ultimately there is no such thing as objective truth: our own truths are created by the unique circumstances of our surroundings. Anyone, therefore, who tries to impose their own truth on another is fighting a losing battle. My mother is right to like Clapham, and I am right to dislike it. Our decisions are the best decisions for us.

Still, it's hard to be called ignorant, especially by a parent, especially as an only child. Even if that child is in her thirties. I've put a lot of work into the conclusions I've drawn, from my atheism to the dress cut that best flatters my figure, to which boy to kiss, which party to vote for, which bus to take, and which borough of London to live in. I've made my choices for logical reasons. They suit me. My parents have made their choices too, and I may think they're wrong, but - crucially - I don't think they're ignorant. Believe it or not, I am of the live-and-let-live persuasion. My parents have drawn the same conclusions as most of the parents I know. They've made up their minds and they're sticking to them. And that's good - parents should be stuck in their ways. Contrary to what I wanted when I was 14, trendy parents who wear skinny jeans and smoke are actually not that desirable. Give me my mum's tapered trousers and my dad's 'I wear a tie while mowing the lawn' austerity any day. I love them as they are - but if they even hint that I'm ignorant again, I'll do a Macaulay Culkin and divorce them, and the only thing they'll know about me is what they read on this blog. See how they like them apples.

Right. I'm off to the theatre to watch 190 minutes of Brecht. Pray for me.