‘I was Amy Winehouse’s close friend – to know the real her you need to understand her relationship with women’
I was at a particularly chaotic music festival when I heard that my friend Amy Winehouse had died. It was a hot day in July and it is a memory that still haunts me. Before word spread through the crowds, a friend pulled me aside to tell me the news. The shock felt like a physical assault and left me winded, pushing me to the muddy ground. I would never see Amy again. She was just 27 years old.
Our friendship began in 2005 at Freedom Bar in Soho, where we bonded over big hair, an eclectic style and a fondness for pleasure-seeking which hid deeper issues that lay beneath.
I was studying fashion design at the London College of Fashion, and she had already released her first critically acclaimed album, Frank. Throughout our six-year friendship, we assumed many roles – from neighbours and work colleagues to pool opponents, night owls and even housemates. We travelled together, cooked for one another, plucked one another’s facial hair, exchanged our clothes and makeup, vented about trivial issues, and even, on occasion, borrowed a toothbrush.
