Some people will do anything to avoid bad press. For example, the Chinese government are presently attempting to run the Olympic Torch to Everest, the roof of the world, and are so fearful of being ambushed by Tibetan monks in this most inhospitable terrain they've threatened to shoot protestors on sight. This, Famethrowa can astutely conclude, is not the case with Amy Winehouse. It's more a case of another five minutes another headline, as the prevailing wind blows today's tawdry exclusive about the dwindling torch song twig into our lives.

She's such an easy target, it seems, explosively calling at any destination of potential high drama (stage/court/prison/pub), to then return home in a state of full-on trolly, handily having taken the time to lose her front door keys so as to allow the thirsty snappers that all-important desperate money shot. Sometimes Amy's even been good enough to invite ‘friends' inside her toxic home, so they can film her pining for Blake, watching "Neighbours" or getting inordinately high on big bad drugs.

But while she is indeed an easy target, the most recent Camden fiasco (two men + one lampost attacked, taxi driver fleeced, bar destroyed) suggests any reporter would be mad indeed to get in Amy's way, for fear of being laid out by one of her crack-powered haymakers. Indeed, news reaches me of an intriguing twist to reports she and production golden-eye Mark Ronson have been working on the theme tune for new James Bond movie "Quantum Of Solace". As I understand it, Winehouse will not only warble over some suitably flashy sub-David Arnold sonics but also play Daniel Craig's nemesis, the blockbuster's end of level guardian if you will.

Apparently "Quantum..." concludes with Bond eating a kebab on Chalk Farm road outside the Monarch, where he has to force his way past the grumpy door staff, through the grim, treacherous old bar, which stinks of human waste since the smoking ban. Dashingly taking time to recover his sexy brogues, which have become glued to the sticky floor, Bond must then climb the venue's stairs and pull the sound on a dreary indie band before being confronted by a drooling Amy, mad as hell, and in desperate need of both sex and a fix. Good luck James. Jaws, Blofeld and Odd-job don't even come close to this monster.

Today's Famethrowa's

New: White Denim "Let's Talk About It"
Old: Elton John "Rocket Man"