It was a mistake, her name, or her parents changed it at some point, but Amy was born Amy Crackwhorehouse. As a case of natal nominative determism predicting adult behaviour, her parents were right to change. The sad part is that she lived up to her pre-natal destiny.
Amy is a beautiful women on the inside, and that's what I love. She can sing, she's capable of affection and knows how to commit in a relationship...particularly if we're talking a relationship with a drug dealer. Discretion is important to me and obviously to Amy as well, given that she can conjur pretty much any kind of illegal dope whenever she needs. And she needs more often than most.
How is it that famous folk can get high in public and never face Roger Law? They have to do something really bad- and do it often Lindsay Lohan - before the Plod even notice. If it were me, I'd be in Q doing ten long before I could say 'medical marijuana'. Yet another reason to dig Miss Winehouse - she's gonna keep me from the iron bar motel.
Amy is a curious mix of old-fashioned and modern girl. She stuck by her husband, Mr Blake Fielder-Civil, while he served some of that aforementioned jail time for trying to pervert the course of justice and grievous bodily harm with intent. Small shit in the scheme of things. But it's boring making visits to English prisons twice a week, so she eventually dumped him in favour of long nights boozing and brawling. That's the New British Woman part of Amy - she doesn't mind a good brawl, and often swings at the people closest to her (who aren't drug dealers.) That would be the paparazzi. Or whomever is in the line ahead of her at the off-licence.
Nothing wrong with a stout woman demonstrating it.
My only quibble with Amy is her personal grooming. She's fond of the Liz Taylor version of Cleopatra's eye make-up, but I have a suspicion she's not terribly regular with her bath. She variously looks like a scabrous dog or a crackwhore on parole officer visit day. Sometimes I wonder if she's lost the soap under a pile of cider bottles or a pile of crack pipes.
All of which invokes my rule of some love remaining at arm's length. Wise men understand that if a woman doesn't appear to wash at least semi-regularly, you don't want any part of you in any part of her. There are some things even soap can't wash away.
Bottoms Up, Crackwhores!
Photo of darling Amy from here [link]
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