Give us a one-second flash?
Please, baby? For our own personal private movie?
Bathroom mirror. Backseat of the car.
In between auditions at the empty bar.
Bored in an interview. Brighton cab.
Putting on lipgloss with a nickel bag.
Playing pool. Lights-off party.
Throwing a tantrum at her mother’s knee.
Watching the telly. Pitchers of beer.
Drooling on a pillow while out on tour.
Sitting down on stage at the Isle of Wight.
Handstands on the beach in black and white.
Shot for Spin with broken mirrors.
Chased by paparazzi to an elevator.
Scratching and slurring at a red carpet gala.
Sprawled on the couch with paraphernalia.
With crusted tongue. On her nan’s knee.
Smiling with fuzzy pink kitten fleece.
Crying on holiday. Crap concrete patio.
Recording while drinking whiskey & cokes.
Packing in a palm tree wallpapered closet.
Gob-smacked at Grammies with Tony Bennett.
Covered in scars. Berated by her dad.
Falling mid-song at an arena in Belgrade.
Boyfriend prison visit. Caking on makeup.
Happily eating a Reese’s Peanut Butter cup.
Crack, alcohol, cocaine, heroin.
Blinded by flash bulbs. Getting her hair done.
Playing Mexican houseboy. Eyeliner a mess.
Newlywed on a boat in a cherry-print dress.
