Amy Winehouse - a London memory

Living in London you bump into *famous* people from time to time.  *Stars in eyes!*  Jo Brand squeezes past you at the theatre.  You step on Ian Hislop's toes at the High Court (he was very nice about that).  Amy Winehouse's sad death last Saturday reminds me of the one unexpected time that we happened to be in the same room together.

I have a underground employment practice, by which I mean that I help friends (as friends, not as clients) on issues arising out of the nefarious and slithery relationship between employer and employee.  I am still very proud that in England & Wales we at least have a semblance of legislative protection in that area - but even in our little ole island this area is a dubious sand pit of abuse at the best of times.

Anyway a friend C had had a nightmare (which had its funny moments) with a bunch of breathtakingly disingenuous lawyers, whom we had battled for a few months and finally achieved some good.  So we went to the Savoy bar for a drink to celebrate.  This was before the refurbishment.  The Savoy bar was eye wateringly expensive but atmospheric and pleasant.  It probably stiull is.  In the Age of Austerity I am giving it lots and lots of space to breathe.  Any road, back then we fancied ourselves having an elegant glass as we quietly congratulated ourselves on not actually having punched anybody's face in, but used instead the twin virtues of patience and reason, even when faced with the most insidious provocation.

It was not a quiet night.  We arrived to find a busy room.  Disappointingly, a couple of senior corporate lawyers that I knew were plotting in a corner.  That just about ruined the atmosphere, right there.  Elegance died on the carpet.  On such occasions, corporate tedium is more like a bad smell than anything else. 

That was to the left of us.  To the right was a boistrous bunch of people, just in from some afternoon awards event, or something of that ilk.  And at the heart of the group was a little dark pixie, with impossibly bouffant hair, and eyeliner like coal seams.  She was weaving around, quietly - I did not recognise her at first but as she brushed past me as we moved tables, she said quietly "All right, love" as if talking to a ghost - and I saw who she was.  She was very tiny, frail and yet coiled as a tiger about to spring.  She was not a soft touch - she snapped a bit viciously at someone else a few moments later (I think a question had been asked).    

It all kicked off.  Things got louder and louder.  At one point, Amy wandered over to the Savoy's piano, and started caressing the keys.  A flustered attendant rushed over to say "No. No. No".  She did not insist but one of her entourage was particularly outraged and jabbed a finger at the attendant.  "You are making a big mistake.  A big mistake." he or she declared a la Pretty Woman.  (The entourage were a blur of hangers on.  They seemed interchangeable.  I supposed our onlooker's focus was on the famous face.  Amy's face was very strong, as we all know). 

I could be wrong but I think Rob Brydon, the comedian, was there too.

The large group disappeared into the night, in a blur of noise, like a giant hive.  The bee hive will be quieter now, always. 

Love,

M&T x                     

Things that make you go "oooo"

This morning I passed an old lady who was heading to the eye hospital.  She had been given a very boring looking white plastic eye patch.  So she had stuck some colourful dried flowers on it.

It's the sort of thing that makes you do a double take.  How does one put this - it did not - in any way - make things look any better.  In fact, white plastic is hard to liven up at the best of times, let alone when cupped over some poor suppurating orb.  But, on the other hand, bully for her.  You're getting on a bit, you have a poor suppurating orb, you are instructed to cover it up with a giant guitar pick, and you glance at the mirror on the way out.  "No," you think decisively, "No.  This will not do."

It is a heroic effort to stick anything onto anything these days.  Gluing well is something that takes practice.  But she takes a decision to do something.  She takes action.  She sticks the flowers on.  Making things better in one's own mind is brave and important.

I take my hat off to you, O Pirate of Moorrrrrrrfields.  I hope the eye recovers.

Love,

M&T x