Friday 13th, Gingerfied. And at least we're not Courtney Love.

My good friend Kriss and I have a long running joke, where by no matter how shit the day, nor shit the humour, we can email each other and say,  ’at least we’re not Courtney Love’.

For verily, being Courtney Love must be a gigantic pain in the arse. Crazy, drug fueled, angry, paranoid, widowed, child emancipated and all-round bonkers, with a burning desire to throw away all her talent on a life hell-bent of destruction. Exhausting.

No thank you.

Courtney’s latest is quite remarkable.  She actually accused Dave Grohl, former Nirvana drummer and Foo Fighters frontman, of hitting on her daughter Frances Bean. Thus forcing the 19-year-old Frances to wearily come out and say-

“While I’m generally silent on the affairs of my biological mother, her recent tirade has taken a gross turn,”

“I have never been approached by Dave Grohl in more than a platonic way, I’m in a monogamous relationship and very happy.”

She added: “Twitter should ban my mother.”

Grohl said Wednesday that “unfortunately, Courtney is on another hateful Twitter rant. These new accusations are upsetting, offensive and absolutely untrue.”

Love, 47, of course said “bulls—,” saying she heard about the incident from “an old friend,” as well as Frances’ roommate.

When told of her daughter’s denial and suggestion she ought to retract she countered with: “

“Dave’s a piece of shit, but he’s a really good drummer. You can quote me on that.”

See, bonkers. My own mother likes to make shit up and create drama where non exists, so Courtney rather fascinates me, much like a black mamba would. It seems there’s no level she won’t happily slither towards ( also she had green eyes, and as far as I can tell through non-scientific means, that equals ‘here be demons’).

So today, on this most gingerest of days, Friday 13th, let us, one and all, rejoice in the knowledge, that no matter what, at least we are not Courtney Love.

Ramen.