But you know what?

Plum Sykes, crazy though she may be, has the tiniest bit of a point.

If Charlotte Edwardes was going to be doing a lengthy (in newspaper inches) profile of Sykes, she should have at least paged through BERGDORF BLONDES.

Not that her failure to do so in any way excuses what sounds like a doozy of a temper tantrum on Plum's part, or the bad attitude from her publicists, or Plum's failure to distinguish one dead white American writer from another.

Writers should never be anything other than unfailingly courteous and helpful to journalists, no matter how clueless, antagonistic, or ill-informed the journalist might be.

But Edwardes' whole plaint about "I couldn't read the book because the publicist wouldn't send me a copy?"

Lame, lamer, lamest.

There are ways to get books that don't involve the publisher shipping you a freebie.

There is, for example, Amazon.co.uk, where the book is currently available.

And if that wasn't good enough, I think that good old American Amazon is happy to ship internationally, and I'm sure that the kindly editors at the Telegraph would have been more than happy to pay the freight.

Plum Sykes sounds like an unpleasant bit of business, but that doesn't excuse the reporter's failure to find some other way to do her homework other than A., call publicist, B., repeat step A.

My guess? Edwardes never intended to do anything other than trash Sykes, who, it must be said, makes an awfully tempting target.

(Full disclosure: I haven't read BERGDORF BLONDES. I've never met either Plum Sykes or Charlotte Edwardes. I've never bitched out my publishers for sending the wrong kind of limousine to ferry me to my book party.)