Amy Winehouse, the chanteuse of Camden is dead. The singer/songwriter who hit gold with her album Back To Black, which brought us such classics as Rehab, I Told You I’m No Good and the titular song, was found in her Camden home on Saturday at around 4pm, UK time. She was 27. It was a moment many expected, but hoped would never come. The car crash, when it finally came, was fatal.
A few weeks ago, I was reading Radio Times, a TV listings magazine, and found a small article advertising Springwatch Easter Special. Springwatch is a show about British wildlife and gives tips on what to look out for as spring arrives. This article also gave a list of the 12 signs of spring. Here it is, courtesy of the Woodland Trust:
Lovely isn’t it? Now let me give you the 12 signs of spring, London style: There’s more…
We’re a hardy lot, us Brits. We survived the Blitz, we were defiant in the face of IRA bombings, we have set our faces against more recent terrorist actions and on Monday, here in London, we forged ahead against the obstacle of the tube strike, the fourth in three months. But something happened on Tuesday. It snowed. And despite knowing of it’s impending arrival a week ago and councils plus other authorities boasting about their grit mountains and their preparations, trains were knackered, roads were gridlocked and people found their 40 minute journey home taking a millennia. This scenario is becoming as regular as, well, Christmas.
Cold enough for you?
Well, Waity Katie is waiting no more. After 9 years, Prince William finally popped the question and made it public knowledge on Tuesday. His father Prince Charles jokingly said: “They’ve been practising long enough,” and no doubt, many people were saying: “it’s about time.” Our prince has chosen a ‘commoner,’ to marry in London next year. Kate middleton is a commoner because she’s not of royal blood, but she’s not exactly struggling to pay her bills either, which, I suggest, would make her less common than most of us.
Because I’m currently working at a place with restricted internet access and no radio play, I didn’t get wind of this until early evening when it hit me like an anvil in the face as I arrived at Waterloo station. It was everywhere: in the papers, on TV, radio and t’internet. They appear to be a nice couple and I genuinely wish them well, but by 10pm I was sick of it – already – and it’s only just starting. The fawning, the minute and useless detail (apparently she calls him Big Willy and he calls her Babykins – way too much information), the predicted spike in visitor numbers and the tat being prepared in readiness for this great event, because of course, this wedding will get us out of the recession, won’t it? On that basis I bet Ireland wishes this wedding was happening on their turf. Looks like they need all the money they can get.
"Oi loves ya, Big Willie. Gor blimey, guv." "And ay love yoo too, babykins, yah." Original images from The Guardian newspaper
In relation to this, I hope to find and present to you as much rubbish commemorative stuff as possible over the next few months. I know that I will strike gold in the pound shops and supermarkets, a consistently rich source of many of the items I’ve been able to present to you in my previous posts about Valentine’s Day and the World Cup. If the wall-to-wall coverage of the X Factor makes you want to eat your own feet, you’d better brace yourselves, ladies and gentlemen. The coverage of this wedding, from build up to the, ahem, climax will blow the X Factor out of the water.
Apparently, when drowning, you feel a sense of euphoria once you stop struggling, because your brain becomes hypoxic (deprived of oxygen). Perhaps in this situation we should just stop struggling and let the hypoxia kick in as we reach the final destination.
Pie and Biscuits 