I’m an outgoing girl, and I can’t help the way I look.
I consider myself sexy. But the sexy image doesn’t bother me, and I don’t think it detracts from my singing.
I always wanted it, the fame. When it come, I didn’t want to let it go.
When I was a model, everybody was scrutinising me and I felt I had to go to the gym because my figure had to be fantastic. Now that I’m a singer, I’ve got a different kind of body – it’s more athletic.
All my life, it’s been the same with men. Being a woman who is famous and adored by men is very hard for any boyfriend to handle. All my boyfriends end up insecure.
I still keep my accent.
It wouldn’t be fair to drag a child round the world, touring.
I still consider myself a working-class girl and would send my kids to public school.
At 20, I didn’t know what suited me. I had terrible fashion sense and awful make-up.
When somebody wants me to sign an old picture, it’s like looking at another person.
I wanted to get a taste of what it would feel like to be a mum. I’ve always had a strong maternal instinct and ideally I would love one of my own.
Gay guys love women who are tough, who are survivors. They always call me a diva. And I am a survivor; I’ve pulled through everything and I’ve not become bitter about it.
I don’t have a problem with my image; it’s other people who do.
I can’t beleive I’m here to tell the tale, this was my first brush with death, and God must have been looking after us and obviously, it wasn’t our time.
Listen, it’s very easy not to be ripped off, you know. Get yourself a lawyer.