Like all English people, I turn red.. in the sun

‘My life is cleverly disorganized’, says the British singer Kim Wilde. ‘A bit like my hair’. The locks were disheveled, the blond very bohemian, but she never dives in head first, neither in the Indian Ocean, while sojourning in Reunion Island, nor in life. Also at the train at least five paces, there are inevitably her nanny-body-and-angel-keeper, in heels and skirt mid-calf, a basket in hand, where she piles up contracts. Approves or disapproves the nanny and it’s almost making a wall that her child-star out all night in the party scene on the island.

Under the tropical sun, the English of North Hertfordshire has not waived her paler skin because the sun makes her red. Her milky complexion is always protected, she walks into a tourist place with video camera on her shoulder and filming tirelessly children, market stalls and even pineapple window displays and posters of the last movie with Christopher Lambert. The lipstick always dazzling lands on the glasses of iced punch while the doe eyed is lost on the coral barrier. Under her dreamy airs, the baby has fun changing clothes four times a day. ‘I spend all my money in stiletto heels, red heels, ballet slippers green. Nothing gives me more fun than finding a pair of shoes in a shop window.’

Except maybe the clothes: dresses Bullets synthetic gloss, which she puts under the skirts embroidered with her mom, or held vanguard of Jean-Paul Gaultier, her favorite designer. She just bought a flat in London. ‘It’s so much more convenient to change clothes than at Dad’s house, lost in the suburbs.’ If, on the day of spleen, Kim’s dream of being a mother reigning sages brats on clinging to her skirts, she nevertheless continues to throw his clothes like a schoolgirl at the foot of his bed, and when the pile is too large, pumps it under his desk.

Her curves prohibit Kim to have any ‘five o’clock’, but she is a real English in the kitchen. Her specialty, she says without smiling, tomato spaghetti sause (from the can, obviously). As for ‘soushimis’ to ‘yakitori’, which are her favourites, she purchases them at the Japanese restaurant next door, she just gets them out of their packaging. ‘I always wanted to be a singer,’ said Kim, ‘the rest seems secondary to me. We were following our ‘rock daddy’ Marty Wilde around the world. We went to school during the quieter periods. Sitting by the window, dreaming of being an Aretha Franklin. I was rewriting the world in black and white, like Hollywood in the 1950s. Since that day, for me, men should look like Humphrey Bogart and women like Marilyn.’