For several years now, I’ve been going to Cornwall for a week during the Easter Holidays — usually to Bude in North Cornwall. Bude has the advantage of being working class and unpretentious, so you’re unlikely to bump into any Guardian readers. My children and I can sit on the beach, tucking into our McDonald’s Happy Meals, without attracting any disapproving glances.
But the house we usually rent wasn’t available this year, so Caroline suggested we go to St Ives instead. I agreed without giving the matter a second thought, unaware that St Ives is ground zero for trendy north London couples with young children. This is on account of its reputation as an ‘artists’ colony’. It was home to Bernard Leach and Barbara Hepworth and since 1993 it has boasted its very own Tate Gallery. The Guardian named it Britain’s best seaside town in 2007.
This was a major victory for Caroline in the culture war that’s been going on in our household since our first child was born. As someone who was brought up in Hampstead and went to Cheltenham Ladies College, Caroline has ‘good’ taste. She reads novels by William Boyd, eats vegetarian food and likes to spend the weekends visiting museums and galleries. I, on the other hand, suffer from ‘bad’ taste. Having been educated entirely in the state sector, I like football, convenience food and Harry Bosch novels. My favourite movie of last year was Battleship.
The ‘war’ doesn’t consist in each of us trying to force our particular values on our children. Rather, it’s Caroline versus the rest of us. That’s because all children naturally gravitate towards schlock. It takes a modicum of intellectual effort to appreciate fine art and great literature, whereas playing Temple Run and Subway Surfer requires none.
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