I wasn’t sure if I should publish what I’d written about Amy Winehouse. No-one’s paying me to do it, and no-one’s commissioned me to do it. Plus, I couldn’t do her justice in the ways that India Knight, Sophie Heawood, Caitlin Moran, Alexis Petridis and Russell Brand have. But, I just watched a YouTube video of George Michael covering ‘Love Is A Losing Game’ and couldn’t stop bawling. I wasn’t surprised but I’m constantly shocked that we’re never going to hear her sing again.
Publishing this now has nothing to do with the results of the toxicology tests, which showed that no drugs were found in Amy’s body. But this latest news have given an otherwise hopelessly tragic story a nub of hope. Not hope that she was morally pure, emotionally stable and fit to release lots of ditties for us to selfishly enjoy. But hope that Amy’s father wasn’t wrong about her when he told the funeral congregation she was clean. In a wretched situation, further heartbreak has been spared by the revelation that Mitch Winehouse knew his daughter better than ‘Daily Mail Reporter’ did. (I’m not linking to the article where all they bloody did was find a Camden drug dealer – who are as easy to find as paving slabs – then print everything he told them.)