Ralph Blumenthal has a cheerful piece of seasonal feelgood in the Times this morning about a holiday party for stray opera singers. It's good fun and yes, I would have loved to have been there, but my attention is arrested by the presence of the legendary Kiri Te Kanawa. It seems that Ms. Te Kanawa, who always seems to rank high in the league tables for niceness, had a cold.
Say again? Would you want to be the culprit who greets a roomful of world-class vocal talent by spewing phlegm?
Afterthought: It says here that the host (perhaps better, the husband of the hostess) is "a metals merchant." Back in my newspaper days, that phrase meant "junk dealer." No complaints on my part, but this has the makings of a story in itself.