Amy Winehouse’s underwear

By cinefile

So if the headline is anything to go by I’ve succumbed to tabloid fever. Yes and, well, yes. Yesterday I was deep in the bowels of one of London’s snazziest publishing houses in the company of a snarly but thoroughly entertaining photographer who had just completed a photo shoot of trash plucked from Amy Winehouse’s box, I mean bin box. Included in the detritus were a pair of the thin lizzy’s knickers (black), rolling papers, a Nando’s flier, cosmetics, indecipherable love notes and a copy of Watchtower magazine.

Okay the the Jehovah Witness magazine wasn’t in amongst the other worthless rubbish, but that’s where (unnamed magazine) slipped up. When I was editor in charge of incredible but true stories at the National Inquirer (US Pulitzer prize winning publication) we were old hands at rummaging through rubbish belonging to celebrities and politicans for entertaining stories. The thing is we used to routinely plant unexpected items in amongst the thrash . I remember once going through Martha Stewart’s thrash and planting recipes for hash cookies and heroin pies. Or another time we put human scalps in Donald Trump’s trash and zebra sequined leggings and bell bottom pants in Anna Wintour’s trash. Oh the giggles, it was so nice for a time not do journalism while doing journalism.

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