I'm always facinated by what sets people off and what leaves them quiet and unstirred. On Saturday I posted the deliberately tendentious claim that French music is second rank. I do actually believe that, but I think there's probably more room for debate about it than I allow. A commenter quite rightly calls Poulenc's Dialogue des Carmelites "one of the most riveting operas of the twentieth century"; it's one of my very favourite operas, but I do think it second rank compared with the likes of Die Meistersinger, Don Carlos or Le Nozze di Figaro.

But what interests me is that that small post on what, my passion for music aside, must be a relatively unimportant subject, has attracted more comments than anything else so far on this blog - allegations that the Leader of the Opposition is doing terrorists' work for them, Tony Blair's legacy or my defence of Israel's war last year.

When I worked on the Express I would write all sorts of things which one might have expected to annoy the readers. But by far the biggest and most hostile postbag I ever had was when I wrote two sentences comprising a total of five words after Britain had lost in the Davis Cup to the US. My words: Who cares! It's only tennis.

I was besieged with letters full of hate. My favourite was simple and made its point clearly: You hate tennis because you are a fat bastard.

It must be said that at least one assertion made by my correspondent was correct.

Daniel Finkelstein, however, has had the best such message: You IS a RUBBISH columist.