Take Amy pleas with a sprin­kling of her fairy dust

Midweek Sport - - AGONY SPECIAL -

A FEW years back I was work­ing on a news­pa­per when the phone rang.

“My name is Carol, and I’m a psy­chic,” said the caller.

“Then you’ll have fore­seen what’s about to hap­pen now, then,” I replied, slam­ming the phone down.

For that is the joy of deal­ing with the gen­eral public – all hu­man life is there, in­clud­ing the scream­ing nutjobs.

And now lobbed into that pot of odd­balls is Mitch Wine­house, dad of the late Back to Black singer Amy.

He was across the pond last week launch­ing the US branch of the Amy Wine­house Foun­da­tion, say­ing he’d been chat­ting to his dead daugh­ter through a psy­chic.


Ap­par­ently, the tragic singer is “fully be­hind ev­ery­thing that we’re do­ing and she’s up in heaven wav­ing her magic wand”.

Then he sang four songs with a jazz band, at one point paus­ing to kiss his mo­bile phone which ap­par­ently had a photo of Amy on it.

He’s got a book com­ing out in June which is – wait for it – all about Amy, too, with pro­ceeds go­ing to the foun­da­tion.

Now, I have no prob­lem at all with the laud­able aim of rais­ing funds to help un­for­tu­nate kids, which is what the foun­da­tion is all about.

But ask­ing me to picture a hard liv­ing hell­raiser like Amy chat­ting via a crys­tal ball crank while sprin­kling fairy dust from her cloudy eyrie is frankly tak­ing the f***ing piss.

In her own words, Mitch, me old china: No, no, no!

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