Winehouse's Last Hit.
It's been sometime since I last visited, but the recent death of Amy Winehouse in her Camden flat brought back memories of my troubled time as a London Funeral Director. I remember meeting Winehouse at the tradesmans yard of the exclusive London Clinic. She was there getting rehab (No, no, no) after one of her little episodes, whilst I was there picking up some dead foreign squillionaire. I introduced myself as she sat smoking on a bail of cardboard, my pretext being want of a light for my own cigarette. Hospitals wont let you smoke indoors for some reason and she couldn't very well smoke out the front where the 'paps' lay in wait. I don't remember the conversation but It was brief. She looked worn and beaten in real life , like a terminally cancerous pit pony. I would have liked to have told her how much I loved her music, and how her songs had punctuated the troubled relationship I was in at the time, but of course I didn't. Even now her music takes me back to...