Soul queen Miss Amy Winehouse was released from University College Hospital in London on Tuesday after rushing there on Monday. Yes, it was overdose! No, not over crack cocaine.

According to her spokesman it was adverse reaction to medication. Her representative Chris Goodman said:

She had a bit of a scare yesterday because of a reaction to treatment. She was kept in overnight purely for observation. Amy is fine and she is on her way home.”

Supposedly, the incident was part of her struggle to get clean of drug:

She was taking a new [medication] as part of her anti-drug treatment program. And it was an adverse reaction to that new drug.”

Goodman said Winehouse is going to continue writing her new album after performing a few summer festivals.

Hope so.

A Rolling Stone journalist who was invited to the singer’s Camden flat, tells how she witnessed at first-hand the shambolic squalor in which Amy Winehouse exists…

Dawn is breaking on a hot Sunday morning last month, and Amy Winehouse is inside her North London home, staring at her reflection in a dark tinted mirror, looking the tiny little body in front of her up and down, assessing the emaciated tattooed limbs, the jungle of a black beehive weave and the hallucinatory glow of her transparent green eyes.

All around her, Winehouse’s home is in disarray: discarded bags of crisps, crumpled nuggets of tinfoil, beer bottles, lingerie boxes and scattered old credit cards tell of a long night that hasn’t ended in weeks, maybe months.

While Winehouse’s Saturday isn’t really over, her Sunday has begun with a shriek.

The tabloids have hit the pavement and slapped her out of her weekend reverie with yet another high-decibel scandal.

This time it’s photographs and videos — leaked from a lost digital camera — that show Winehouse in various states of dereliction, all shot by her now-imprisoned husband, Blake Fielder-Civil.

What’s scandalous this time isn’t the pictures of Winehouse surrounded by crack pipes (there have been too many of those this year) but a video of her singing to Fielder-Civil a ditty chock–a–block with racial slurs: ‘Blacks, Pakis, gooks and Nips . . . deaf and dumb and blind and gay,’ she and a girlfriend sing.

The morning headline reads ‘Sex, drugs and racist rant’, but at Winehouse’s place, there’s no publicist or manager to be seen - no crisis management squad deployed to save one of the decade’s most successful female vocalists from public shame.

That’s not Winehouse’s style — it’s just her and a girlfriend. British singer Remi Nicole pores over the paper, annoyed, telling her friend that all this scandal has to stop.
‘All right, Remi, it’s over,’ says Winehouse bluntly.

‘No, but how did anyone know about you and Alex and Kristian?’ Nicole asks her, referring to alleged extra-marital dalliances by Winehouse reported in the Press.

‘They’re, like, all these Chinese whispers,’ says Winehouse sadly.

‘You need to get rid of the ***** around you who whisper,’ says Nicole, and after a pause, ‘what’s the point of him taking pictures of you with a crack pipe?’ referring to Fielder-Civil.

‘It wasn’t like that, babe,’ says Winehouse sweetly as she scours the floor in a stupor for a head scarf.
‘It’s important that you know that. You know a lot of things are more casual to me than they are to you.’

‘Yeah, like smoking crack,’ Nicole says under her breath.

‘It’s just incidental,’ says Winehouse. ‘He’s taking pictures of me because we were on our honeymoon, and he thought I looked pretty.’

She finds a red scarf with white polka dots, a la Minnie Mouse, and carefully fastens it around her head, tying it in a jaunty bow.

Winehouse lifts her black wifebeater vest and stares at her chest — the tattoo of her husband’s name thundering across her heart, barely encased by a grey polka-dot push-up bra.

‘Should I wear my Spanish top?’ she asks no one in particular.

Downstairs, a growing pack of paparazzi has gathered in a frenzy, inches from her door, with cameras at the ready, anticipating Winehouse’s response to the latest headlines.

For the past hour, Winehouse has been getting ready to meet the paparazzi: she’s been carefully drawing the dark, thick Cleopatra swoops around her eyes, over smudges of make-up past, her long, manicured red fingernails masking a black resin lining, her lip gloss glittering pink, foundation covering little scabs that dot her face.

‘What are you going to say, Amy?’ I ask her from the sofa where I’ve been slumped over, scratching notes for the past few hours.

At 4am, after I’d spent half the night outside her apartment, hoping for an interview, Winehouse had, much to my surprise, opened the door and invited me in for beer.

Since then, Winehouse has been pottering around her house in varying states of consciousness, disappearing every half an hour or so upstairs to her bedroom and returning to talk to me a little about her music, a little about her drugs and a lot about her imprisoned husband.

Through it all, she’s an attentive and open hostess, making tea and giving me extra pieces of paper to take notes.

Now, thinking about the waiting paparazzi outside, she keeps her eyes fastened on her image in the mirror.

‘I could just go out there and say . . . I don’t know.’ Her mouth is slack. ‘I don’t know, really.’ Winehouse gives her hive one last tease and trots gamely down the stairway.

She opens the door and on cue a firestorm of flashbulbs surrounds her, voices crying her name: ‘Amy! Amy! Amy!’

‘I guess I should apologise,’ she starts, fluttering her eyes, swaying her hips, flipping and tucking her hair innocently. ‘What next, Amy?’ they cry. ‘What are you going to call your new album?’

She smiles, making them wonder if she’ll answer, and then wickedly says, ‘Black Don’t Crack’.

This past year, Amy Winehouse has gone from being one of pop music’s most ascendant and celebrated talents to a tragi-comic train wreck of epic proportions.

Winehouse has insisted from the beginning of her career that she is a simple girl crazy in love with her man. Her life, her history and talent all seem barely worth talking about when one could talk about Blake, how fit he is, how perfect for each other they are.

‘We are so in love, we are a team,’ she rhapsodises to me. ‘Blake, Blake, Blake, Blake, Blake, Blake, Blake.’ It’s as if she’s putting herself in a trance.

The daughter of a taxi-driver father and a pharmacist mother, Winehouse grew up in a North London home where jazz voices such as Dinah Washington and Frank Sinatra were always on the record player.

AT 17, Winehouse got a record contract with Island, and in 2003 she released her first album, the critically acclaimed Frank. In 2003, she met Blake Fielder-Civil at a local bar. A handsome hanger-on from rural Lincolnshire, Fielder-Civil worked part-time on music video sets. Winehouse fell hard — his name was quickly tattooed on her chest.

They married in May 2007, but last November, he was arrested for the assault of an East End bar owner in June 2006. (Fielder-Civil pleaded guilty and has just been sentenced to 27 months imprisonment.) With her husband gone, Winehouse slid into despondency.

In January, after a clip of her allegedly smoking crack was released to The Sun, she was sent to rehab by her record label again. She didn’t stay long, and she happily tells me now that she did drugs the whole time.

Since the spring, there has been story after story in the tabloids, parading images of Winehouse wrecked and wretched, usually high and half-naked.

There were rumours of extramarital affairs, and she was arrested (and later released) on drug charges and cautioned by police for assaulting a man.

Winehouse says all of this is the product of heartbreak over being separated from her true love, whose name appears in a little heart pin she often wears in her hair.

‘To be honest, my husband’s away, I’m bored, I’m young,’ Winehouse tells me.

‘I felt like there was nothing to live for. It’s just been a low ebb.’

Winehouse is rarely alone. Her home is on a quiet cobbled lane off the main drag of raucous Camden, but throughout the night, musicians, dealers, masseuses, friends and fans come and go freely.

Outside, a nearly ever-present herd of paparazzi — mostly men in their early 30s — stand around smoking cigarettes. Winehouse is their meal ticket.

The paps jokingly refer to her as ‘the pied piper of Camden’ for her powers of enchantment.
Winehouse treats them like animals in her care — she makes them tea and, on several occasions, smacks them if they get too close to her.

In the hours I spend with her, her main concession to health is a large upright tanning bed, which she uses every day.

She often seems like she is having trouble staying awake, fighting to keep her eyes open. ‘I just took my night-time medicine,’ she says. ‘I’m so tired.’

Winehouse seems lonely, in search of a perpetual slumber party. ‘Women don’t try to use me,’ she tells me groggily.

Her trust is remarkable: at one point she even discusses her night’s outfit with two female teenage fans over her intercom.

Her arms are spotted with cuts and scratches, and she itches at them furiously as she wanders upstairs.

She offers me beer and then realises she doesn’t have any. She sends Nicole to ask a paparazzi to go buy it for her, and when he returns, she laughs at his request for money.

She floats into the kitchen, a sea of dirty dishes, to wash glasses for our beer.

She’s dazed and keeps losing track of what she’s doing, her eyes flicking around.

She spends ten minutes washing the glasses, fondling the edges slowly with the sponge and drying them with a big, filthy bath towel that sits on the counter.

I ask her what her next album will be like. ‘Same stuff as my last album but with some ska.’ Have you started recording it yet? ‘It’s not so much about recording, it’s about whatever.’

I ask what the songs are like. ‘When the songs are done, they’ll be all atmospheric and cool like that.’

She does a sort of Sixties, space age, Bond-girl dance, standing with one hip thrust to the side, wiggling her fingers, opening her mouth and making a ‘Whaaaa’ sound. ‘They might be like these girls I’ve been listening to, like the Shangri-Las.’

I ask her about Pete Doherty. ‘We’re just good friends,’ she says. ‘I asked Pete to do a concept EP, and he made a face. He wouldn’t do it. We’re just . . . really close.’

She pulls up the guitar, picks the chords to the Sixties song I Will Follow Him, puts down the guitar and disappears upstairs for a while.

When she returns, she teeters into the living room, moves the array of bottles and glasses aside and asks Nicole for a massage: ‘Press my face, Remi.’

She sits in front of Nicole, puts down a pillow and then jogs off to get massage oil and paper towels. ‘Will you just sit still?’ asks Nicole, who seems distinctly sober.

In a matter of minutes, Winehouse has moved Nicole again, this time to the sofa, and she’s burying her head into her lap as Nicole works diligently on Winehouse’s small, gnarled back. ‘I love Amy,’ says Nicole.

‘Yeah,’ says Winehouse, adopting a cute voice. ‘She loves me.’

‘Amy is a very honest type of person,’ says Nicole. ‘She blows my mind. She’s very special.’

From her lap, Winehouse mutters: ‘Special needs.’

‘She’ll hate me for saying this, but her heart is made of gold,’ says Nicole.

‘Made of wood,’ mumbles Winehouse.

‘She’s very democratic,’ says Nicole. ‘Diplomatic,’ corrects the lap voice. ‘I want to fall in love like Amy,’ says Nicole. ‘I think I’ve been in love before.’

Winehouse lifts her head: ‘No, no, if you had, you’d be dead because you weren’t together.’

Winehouse wants to show me her wedding pictures, but first she informs me that she wants to eat some food.

‘I’m on a strict pizza diet,’ she says perkily. ‘I’m on a strict put-weight-on diet. I love food. I’m just stressed out.’ She returns from the kitchen with an oozing white bread and banana sandwich, on top of which she sprinkles crisps.

She hands Nicole her laptop, caked in fingerprints and smudges, and asks her to show me the photographs of Winehouse and her husband kissing, the two of them mugging for the camera, passing pills to each other with their tongues. Winehouse gets up for more food. Nicole continues the slide show.

‘I’ve never been to rehab, I mean, done it properly,’ says Winehouse from the kitchen. ‘I’m young, and I’m in love. But it’s never been like, “Amy, get your life together.”’

It’s 9am, and outside the last paparazzi leave, shouting up: ‘Thank you, Amy!’

‘You’re welcome!’ she yells back, then she mutters: ‘You f***ing gooks.’ And cracks up.

She thoughtfully calls me a taxi and walks me downstairs, inviting me to join her a few days later for a private concert in Moscow, where she will be paid a reported £1 million to play for Russian oligarch Roman Abramovich. (A day later, her manager rescinds my invitation.)

After the show, the newspapers report that Winehouse was drunk and Abramovich’s organisers were sent into a mad scramble to search for a replacement.

They say she played hours late and without underwear. Her publicist, Tracey Miller, dismisses the rumours, insisting it went well.

Winehouse is scheduled to play at various festivals and concerts in Europe this summer. But last month, Winehouse fainted in her home and was taken to the hospital by her father.

‘They are just taking it one day at a time,’ says Miller. ‘In a way, it’s good she’s there.’

© 2008, Rolling Stone. First published in Rolling Stone magazine. Distributed by Tribune Media Services.

Oh, not everyone is sick Denise Richards and her show Denise Richards: It’s Complicated. Paris Hilton got inspiration from the reality show about Richards’ life and now is planning to make a new reality show with Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan. I suggest it will be called something like The Tumultuous Life of Socialites in Spotlight.

The socialite, who also tried acting and singing, and reality TV shows, now wants to produce the two hour special with candid revelations of her fellow celebrities.

There is a laundry list of stuff to choose from: daddy issues, drunk driving, drugs and sex tapes.

Can you imagine the three together? Brit, Lilo and Paris…right, what about Amy Winehouse? She’s got loads to reveal.

Boy George, remember, that Boy George? He may not be able to make it to his concert in the US this July, 20. He planned to perform at Showbox at the Market as a leg of his tour but was denied US visa. This was planned to be his first tour in a decade. He was also hoping to do a performance at the city of New York’s Department of Sanitation annual Family Day event Aug. 17.

Despite the visa denial, the tour has not been cancelled yet. His management office released the following statement, which makes a plea to U.S. authorities:

This is not in respect of anything he has done in the past, but because he is facing a trial in November in London for something that happened in April 2007. George’s lawyers in London have absolutely forbidden us to speak about the facts of that case, and all we can say is that George is astounded at the decision and is having lawyers here in the United States look at it in hope that someone will change their minds.

George has not been convicted of anything in London and there is a presumption in the western world of innocense until proven guilty.”

Boy George, who is now 47 years old, was on the top of his success on the British new wave scene as the frontman for Culture Club. They recorded such hits as ‘Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?’ and ‘I’ll Tumble 4 Ya’. Here is what he has to say about the visa denial:

I am getting my life together and was really looking forward to performing in concert for all my loyal fans. I love America, and I am really sad that it appears that I am not allowed to visit a place I have called home at various times in my life. But what has happened to me has nothing to do with the American people. They are kind people with big hearts.”

Boy George’s management statement goes on to say:

George really would love to come to American and repay his American fans’ loyalty, and that is why we are asking the U.S. authorities to reconsider their decision.”

Poor Boy George, he probably doesn’t have many fans left, but denying visa to music idol is just wrong, even if he or she is a drug addict. Imagine denying visa to Amy Winehouse?

Remeber this cool music vid? Enjoy.

Amy Winehouse was taken to clinic last night as she arrived back home from Moscow where she performed at the launch of the contemporary art house The Garage. Amy was taken there and back home to UK on Chelsea FC owner Roman Abramovich’s private jet.

At the moment nothing in particular is known yet. Drug addict ‘Rehab’ singer is undergoing tests after fainting at her home.

Singer’s spokesman said, Amy quickly recovered after passing out yesterday afternoon at her house in Camden, North London.

Amy was at home this afternoon when she briefly fainted. Fortunately, her manager’s assistant was there to stop her falling. She quickly recovered and her father Mitch took her to hospital as a precaution. Doctors are unsure of the cause of the incident and Amy is currently undergoing tests.”

Hopefully, Amy will be feeling better very soon, and of course going to rehab.

WARNING

This video contains the grossest shit you’ve ever seen. Amy Winehouse has turned into Amy Winemouse. She and Pete Doherty are cracked out of their heads. My reaction was… I didn’t know to laugh or to cry.

Pete said that the baby mouse looked like Johnny Borrell just got out the bath. Right… and Pete’s finger nails are so nasty like he was digging grounds. Those guys have millions and they live like bums. I wonder do they even wash themselves. Trash.

Kids, never do drugs.

Who in the hell would send a message like this to her husband? Only Amy.

Animal services should go to Pete and Amy and confiscate these mice or rats or whatever. Otherwise they’ll be eaten by Pete when he gets munchies.

Depleted Amy Winehouse takes off her beehive and reveals her ugly scary looks.

Wearing bra, shorts and slippers and without her 12 inches beehive Amy looks like a monkey, the ones I saw on National Geographic channel last night. They were separated at birth!

Those fucked up pictures show Amy drinking and hanging out with her junky friends over the bank Holiday weekend in Henley, Oxfordshire.

The singer, 24, seems to have a bald patch, and if it is so, I do not wonder why. Drugs, alcohol and the impetigo disease she suffered left ‘scars’.

As Daily Telegraph reports she was ‘chatting on her phone, drinking wine and smoking, she used a home hair dye kit to bleach part of her fringe.’

I hope Amy’s team will hurry up to take her to rehab in Arizona, away from her drunken friends.

Looks like Amy’s not doing so bad. She was seen with a new guy Alex Haynes, 24, in Camden walking out from her parents’ house. They were holding hands, cuddling and looked absolutely comfortable being surrounded by paparazzi.

Janis Winehouse, Amy’s mom told the Sunday Mirror:

I’d spoken to Alex a couple of times over the phone, but this was the first time I’d actually met him.

He’s a lovely boy - gentle and sweet. He really looked after Amy popping out to buy cigarettes, papers, anything she wanted.

He works for her manager so their relationship was professional to begin with but if they’ve made something of it, I’m thrilled.

Blake has sent her down the wrong path - drugs and self-harm. She needs a man she can depend on, who can look after her.

I’m praying Alex is that man.”

Alex Haynes is her manager Raye Cosbert’s assistant and Amy’s friends and family seem to be happy to see them together, considering that they dislike her husband Fielder – Civil.

By the way Amy Winehouse has apologized for slapping a man last week in the pub where she was acting really over the top. She spent the night before she had to go through police – quiz with her new love.

May be Alex is actually influencing her in a good way. He looks like the exact opposite of the self-confessed junky Fielder – Civil, who has spent half of their marriage in custody.

So Alex gets +1 for being kinda like mummy’s good boy, and that what Amy needs at least for now. And another +1 for making her smile. When was the last time I saw her smile?

Let’s see where he takes Amy. Rehab may be?

OMG, look at Amy. She really needs to go to rehab and don’t you say no, no, no. She was captured totally wasted on Tuesday night in Camden, North London accompanied with Pete Doherty’s guitar player Mick Whitnall from the Babyshambles rock band.

She looked wild, confused and unsteady on her feet. She was drunk!

Award winning singer Amy Winehouse could be facing arrest and possibly will get jail sentence up to six month for allegedly attacking two men while intoxicated.

She got 5 Grammy’s all at once and was nominated for three different categories for Ivar Novello on Monday. I like her songs a lot. She is one legendary girl for sure. But face it - she got major issues with alcohol. This talented singer was screaming:

I’m a legend… I want to take drugs!”

Amy Winehous, 24 is facing a police quiz after claims she “headbutted” a guy who was actually helping her to get a cab outside the bar.

So they say she also punched a guy in a face who didn’t want to let her play pool. And some also claim she was stoned. Those pictures from Daily Mail, UK claim she smoked a joint right in the bar. But you know what, I don’t think a person smoking weed acts this way. I mean too much energy, really, those pictures mean nothing to me – it looks just like a rolled up cigarette.

Perhaps, she was just totally drunk and took some drugs we don’t know off. But definitely, this one is exaggerated to be called a joint. Don’t you think?

Both Britney and Lindsay are troubled young ladies.

Just so you remember, Britney Spears got divorced from K Fed, shaved her head, partied dirty and lost custody over her kids.

While that, Lindsay Lohan got DUI arrests few times, went to rehab three times, and lacks of job, cause no one finds her fascinating enough to take part in a movie lately. Well, there was one actually she agreed to do… sexually obsessed waitress. Duh!

Well, let’s see how their little sisters are doing.

Brit’s younger sis became more famous not even for doing the Zoey 101 Nickelodeon TV comedy series, but for getting pregnant at such early age. Jamie Lynn Spears is 17 and will give a birth in early June. She didn’t plan it and she’s too young to even get married.

Aliana Lohan is 15 and it looks like she’s taking her sister’s spot! She has just been offered a role in Mostly Ghostly movie, which has very similar story as her sister’s breakout in 2004 Mean Girls.

Let’s see what it takes Jamie Lynn an Aliana to get over the tag of their troubled older sisters and which one of them will actually take the right lead on the road to success.

Fame, good or not – they’ve already got it.