Paul Potts: Dreams rolled up in tearful Euroschlock

Good grief, Charley Brown . . . Euroschlock? I so detest the superior attitudes of critics who regard those disagreeing with them as so many members of the uneducated, uncouth, unwashed multitudes. As an American, I suppose that makes me doubly suspect. Most of us, by the time we reach a certain age, know what we like and what we dislike. I know that I like Paul Potts -something unthinkable for me just three months ago. Bless critics - someone has to be held up as an example of how assinine the human race can be, but no critic, regardless of race, creed or British accent, can tell me what I should like or what I should listen to. As far as the other link to Rupert Christiansen which (thankfully) my computer refuses to download, is there any value to listening to a critique from a show which relegates "Culture" to a minute a day, a minute a week? There are people in this world who manage to suck the joy out of everything in this life . . . do I hear the word "critic?"

Carole Scott Socha