Pretty well, is the answer.
Cardiff Singer, heat two, produced one terrific English soprano, a lovely Chinese baritone, and three more sopranos, one of whom was good, one okay (though in a truly awful dress) and one of whom had problems. Poor lass, her frock was her best point; she launched herself onto "Bel raggio lusinghier" and was swiftly overwhelmed by it. Apparently she was feeling unwell but had decided to have a go notwithstanding; so full marks for courage, anyway. But it is uncomfortable to watch someone so obviously struggling.
The terrific English lass won.
In heat three, being shown tonight, we are due to hear one Ukrainian, one Welsh, one Australian, one Moldovan and one German. I could go to the BBC website and find out who won, even maybe listen to them all on my computer; but I want to save myself for the the fun of the broadcast, while I relax with some supper and a glass of beer.
Then back to the semi-fairy-tale short story I have started writing (as a displacement activity, basically, because I'm finding doing the "Ramundi's sisters" revision number three so grindingly tough). And then an early night, I think.
It has rained a large chunk of the day here, but has now dried up and cleared in time for me to go home. According to the Met Office, it also rained in Crete and southern Greece today. I know how much the tourists will be grumbling, but I can't begrudge a mediterranean country some rain!