The Indy reports:

Her behaviour was nothing less than shocking at the Brit Awards. Everyone agreed, she let the side down pretty badly. Tchuh. You think you know people, think you can trust them to turn in a reliable performance – and they go and ruin it. Amy Winehouse just flatly refused to get drunk, swear, vomit, smoke a joint or storm out. Not once did she tell the writhing popinjay Russell Brand to eff off with his smart remarks about her incipient alcoholism. She sang “Rehab” with a sweet uncertainty, hitching up her red frock to mid-thigh level, but delicately, carefully, as though primly fastidious about revealing her knickers. Her acceptance speech, far from being a rant about the awfulness of Dido or the rapacity of A&R men, was a little-girl stutter of “ers” and “ums” before she declared “I’m just glad my mum and dad are here” and exited, probably for a lovely family night out. It was hopeless. “They tried to make me go to rehab?” More like, “They tried to persuade me to have a small sherry and enjoy myself, but I said no, no, no…”. At this rate, we’ll soon have to stop waiting for her to self-destruct, and start listening to her singing.

God I love her.