Wino has been holed up in the Caribbean for the last little while, apparantly writing some material in St. Lucia for a new album. I was pretty relieved to hear that she seems intent on a comeback, not least because in an interview I read recently Amy revealed that if the music career ever sputters to a stop, she'd quite like to open up her own beauty salon.
Now, most of us are probably inclined to give our therapists the once over when we nip into a salon for a treatment: if the girl who'll be shaping your eyebrows is sporting a dirty big monobrow that could rival a Gallagher brother and looks like it's been lovingly fed with Miracle Gro, you might think twice about letting her next or near your brows.
So it's probably fair to say that if you rocked up to Amy's establishment to be greeted by herself, perhaps with the hair up in a scarf à la Hilda Ogden and a fag sporting a long trembling finger of ash wagging out of the corner of her mouth, you might well turn on your heel. Of course she'd probably just hunt you down and scream "What you lookin' at?!" or enquire as to what your effing problem was. Complaints would be handled in a similarly pleasant fashion. So we know she has the people skills for the job.
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If you decided to take your life in your hands and stay, I reckon you'd have a choice of treatments made from cider and vino and you'd need to be prepared for your therapist to take a slug out of the foot spa every so oftern with an emphasis on natural ingredients like apples or grapes. And sure she'd never have to nip off in the middle of a treatment and leave you on your tod while she looked for some essential bit of kit for your beautification, because all supplies could be handily stowed in the beehive.
The waiting list for an appointment starts (and probably stops) here. What do you reckon she'd call it?
