We’re terrified. And aroused. But mainly terrified. Especially if we’re going to lose you to the Americans.
Don’t worry, you never will. It’s just that everything is online these days – so it’s a lot easier for girls to become well-known further afield. It’s weird, we can track where in the world the most people are viewing my website from. And fourth on the list is… Vietnam. How strange. First is the US, then the UK, Canada and Vietnam. I think it’s just English people having a look while they’re on holiday. It must be.

If we remember Platoon correctly, all Vietnamese people live in tunnels. So it’s possible.
But twice as many people in Vietnam look at it than Denmark or Sweden! That is odd…

Still, if you get the Baywatch role, it’s only going to get stranger…
Ha! Don’t jump the gun. It’s all happening so slowly. Several sites on the internet said I’d got the part before Christmas, but that’s a bit premature. The producers asked to meet with me a while ago. But they’re still going through casting procedures. Hell, there’s isn’t even a script written…

We’ll take a wild guess, it involves a beach and somebody drowning.
And people running in slow-motion and speedboats. In fact, that’s pretty much all of the ingredients. We should write it!


Have you met the Hoff yet?
We’re actually dating. Ha! Just kidding. Although that would be cool. But can I admit something to you? I love that song he does – Jump In My Car. You can’t deny, it’s catchy. And it’s so cool when, in the video, he looks up, winks and sings “jump in my car” like an old rapist. In the nicest possible way, obviously.

Erm… can you call someone an “old rapist” in a nice way?
Ha ha! I suppose not. It just looks like he’s throwing them in the car at one point, that’s all.

Speaking of sexual assault, had any “casting couch” experiences in Hollywood?
Not at all. But I was in LA for eight days last month, and had one of the most embarrassing experiences of my life. I went for a casting – I’m not allowed to say the name of the film – but it’s a big one. I turned up at this office and immediately noticed two things. Firstly, that the waiting room was full of famous women. I recognised all of them from films or American TV shows. And secondly, that they all had scripts. Unlike me – I’d left mine back at the hotel and had only looked at it for like, five minutes. So I sat down next to Selma Blair – who I’d just been watching in Cruel Intentions – and started flicking through a newspaper while they’re all there practising. I was totally unprepared. And when I was called, the casting director just looked at me with utter disgust that I didn’t have a script. I completely fucked it up. It was a disaster. I walked out of the room in total shock.

Ouch. Has it put you off the big screen career? After all, you appeared in the movie Cashback, as “Naked Girl”.
It wasn’t exactly a role! I was like an extra. I just had to stand there, frozen, with my boobs out. It was no different to a photo shoot – there was no actual acting involved. It wasn’t what I’d call “challenging”, ha ha! But no, I just want to go back and do it better.

But if you’re going to be famous, you need to make some celebrity decisions. Have you ever considered a change of name?
As a kid, I always wanted to change it. I hated it. Nobody could say it: “What’s your name? Kelly? Hayley? Kayleigh?” And I’ve seen debates online – “Keeley Hazell or Vicky Pollard: which name is the pikeyest?” So yes, it’s not great. Having said that, my family once told me “Hazell” is supposed to be pronounced “Hazz-ell”. Which sounds classier.

Hmmm. Were they winding you up?
Possibly, now you mention it. But I always wanted to be called Rachel. And then, while I was at school, I was obsessed with changing my name to “Casey Blue”, which is a proper porn star name, isn’t it? Good job I didn’t.

Indeed. But we’ve had a thought – if you’re going to be world-famous, should FHM set up a Church of Keeleyanity?
Yes. Come to think of it, that is a great idea. I could be a kind of Pope figure – make appearances at services every Sunday and tell my followers what to do. Being a goddess sounds like it would be a lot of fun.

Now throughout history, goddesses – such as Ishtar – have been pictured with many breasts. It’s all about being motherly. But how many breasts is optimum?
Erm… two is fine. It’s normal. I suppose if we had been born with five, that’d be normal. But I’m happy with the two I have.

Why not get another one installed – say, on your forehead?
That’s disgusting! Who would put a boob on their forehead, of all places? Imagine when you start getting older – you might have milk running down your face. And then it’d sag and get in your eyes. No.

Fair enough. But as Almighty Keeley, what would be your commandments, O Lord?
Ooh – tough. I suppose the first one would be “Thou shalt obey everything I say.” Or is that too obvious? How about “Thou shalt not block up the streets in London.” I can’t stand traffic jams, so that would have to stop. After that? “Thou shalt bring me chocolates every Sunday.” And “Thou shalt let me into clubs for free whenever I damn well please.” Oh, and “Thou shalt not think that buying me a drink automatically gets you five minutes of looking at my boobs.”

Really? How long do we get then?
You know what I mean. There are a lot of idiots out there.

So how do you deal with them chatting you up?
As no one recognises me, I just lie. I love it. You think of a name, and then make up an entirely new existence. Last week I was a photographer’s assistant. I told this guy I’d been over working in New York with photographers like Rankin, but I preferred it over here – because the film was “nicer”. Then a couple of nights ago I was an architect. There’s a guy in Bromley who thinks I designed the top bit of the Gherkin in London. And so on.

The top of…?
Oh hang on – I’ve thought of one more commandment to add to the list. “Thou shalt not phone me before 11am.” Why does anyone think I’m going to be out of bed at 8.30am? I don’t have a normal job!

Tsk. Foolish mere mortals.
Having said that, I did get a weird text last Saturday. It read: “Morning sexybum. I’m coming over now. So wear something that’s easy for me to rip off.” I got quite excited – who was this mysterious secret lover? So I texted him back. And he said: “My name’s Lee – but sorry, I just realised I mistyped my girlfriend’s number. Really hope I didn’t offend you!” Bah!

Duh. He almost earned himself some genuine Keeley sex…
I know! And the strange thing is, it explained a few other wrong numbers recently. So I was able to text him back: “Dear Lee, last week I also received the bill to have your girlfriend’s fencing repaired. It comes to £259.60. Best wishes.”

Original interview by Chris Bell in the May 2007 issue of FHM UK magazine