Kim Wilde: rock in the family

Kim Wilde, meow, meow, slurp! Only her name makes me tremble and when I think of her images, that evoke feelings of lust in me, it makes me daydream. Kim Wilde, isn't she that blonde, seductive, terribly desirable, but, yes, I know, because I have seen her yesterday on the television, I have goosebumps all over my body. Can they please give me her address, so that I can take my Harley Davidson Electra Glide with leopard skinned seats in front of her door so that I can howl like a wolf to serenade her. And she would open her door and then... shrieiek! Damned! When will this damned electrician stop drilling at the end of the beach? Kim Wilde doesn't mean anything to him. Still, if he would have seen her on television, yesterday afternoon for instance, he would take his hat off for Kim Wilde. That's it, I remember: her voice meows, her pouting demeanour and her lips: madre mia! Anyway, I have to confess each colour: it can go on and on. Why is this blonde pinup always looking so serious? It's what it is, it can't be changed, but can't anyone teach her to say cheese? She can be compared to a Lolita or a baby doll, and that doesn't combine. Always that thing. But imagine for a moment that we, dear readers, would be a hidden camera. Quiet, please, in the street but nowhere else. We are not going to imagine things that are of a delicate nature. But rather hope for a view on life on the streets of London with red brick walls and bobby's, with whom the flamboyant makes you believe you are dreaming. Dream that you are waxing the black asphalt on which Kim walks. An amazone Kim Wilde appears on your left arm with a stack of records of her own. An intensive cocktail, isn't it? She who rolls on like the grey Thames makes heads turn wherever she goes, from the bankers to even you. Completely crazy, that's what you are! No Kim Wilde on your arms, like cacaobutter in spinach. Simply admire her female grace.