I am addicted to praise. The condition is neither attractive nor mature nor productive. Yet I crave praise and, if I don't get it, I go into a decline. If I do get it, I hold it up to the light to assess its quality and, if it passes muster, I experience a brief “praise rush”. But then I want – I need – more.

Because my own appetite is insatiable, I assume that praise is the answer to every managerial problem. Especially at this point in the economic cycle, when no one can afford to reward people with more money, to reward them with generous handouts of “what a star” would seem a no-brainer.

Alas, it is not as simple as that. Last week, a friend rang me to complain that she was feeling grim and demotivated. The previous day, her manager had called her into his office and attempted to drop a love bomb on her but it had gone off in her face and left her scarred. He had first congratulated her on the part of her job that is the easiest to perform and then warmly praised her diligence. She said bitterly to me that this was as bad as being praised for punctuality.