It is hard to believe, as I type these words, in a state of shock, at Saturday teatime, that Amy Winehouse is dead. Yes, it was something people had speculated upon for some time. Yes, you might even suggest that if somebody takes that many hard drugs, drinks that much liquor and punishes their young flimsy body to that extent, death is not so much a tragedy as an inevitability. You can even point out that, at 27, Amy's death puts her in the morbid hall of rock'n'roll deaths about which conspiracy theorists love to ponder. Janis Joplin, Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison all destroyed themselves at the same point in their lives – something that Cobain's mother described, after her son's passing, as "joining that stupid club".