Amy, your drug drama is boring us

And so we didn’t even manage to get to the end of January without breaking our resolutions. More pointedly, Amy Winehouse didn’t. Just 20 days into the year, the singer turned up at court in Milton Keynes charged with drunkenly assaulting a theatre manager during a pantomime performance (my first thought was: “what on earth was Amy Winehouse doing at a panto starring Mickey Rooney?”).

Anyway, it was more a case of ‘oh yes she did’ than ‘oh no she didn’t’. Winehouse pleaded guilty, and admitted to pulling the man’s hair and calling him a word that ends in unt but isn’t punt. She was spared jail because she is a celebrity. (Cough. Splutter. No, because she has subsequently taken steps to curb her drinking).

Amy now has a two-year conditional discharge, to add to her two cautions for similar offences. Indeed, we’ve become as used to seeing pictures of her tottering into a court room, blouse revealing a flash of cleavage, as we have her stumbling out of the Hawley Arms in Camden, eyes wild with alcohol and goodness knows what else. (Once, a very long time ago, I attended a friend’s birthday party there, which was only slightly marred by Winehouse drunkenly throwing chips at people from a nearby table. We were too terrified to tell her to stop).

In a matter of just a few short years, she has changed from fabulous Jewish Princess to a frightening husk of her former self. One worries that it is only a matter of time before she becomes better known for her criminal record than her singing ones. And the problem? I think we all know what that is, or rather who that is: that ghastly Blake Fielder Civil, whom she married, divorced, and now plans to re-marry.