It is more than twenty years since Miranda Bradley first
walked into our evening television viewing, the
butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth girl-next-door who
captured our hearts in her first ever role, and has retained
her hold on them ever since.
Living a life without scandal or mishap, or any of the
behind-the-scenes shockers that habitually shake the image
of her small-screen contemporaries, Bradley was long ago
dubbed the Virgin Queen by the tabloids.
But the time has come to puree that purity – and who better
to flick the switch than Miss Bradley herself?
Titled for her first television role, but a long way from
the freckled minx who delighted the nation with her
mischievous innocence, Naughty Miranda is her own
no-holds-barred sexual autobiography, a kaleidoscope of
taste, touch and exquisitely vivid story telling.
But Naughty Miranda is not another “hot” Hollywood memoir.
She might work in Tinseltown, but she lives in the real
world.
There are NO incredible casting couch seductions, NO torrid
affairs with steamy leading men, and NO on-set sex scenes
that slipped a few inches too far.
Her loves take place away from the cameras, away from the
hot lights and microphones, in a world of shopping malls,
SUVs, camping trips and bus-stops, in a world where she is
plain Miranda, and most people don’t even notice her… unless
she decides she wants them to.
In other words, butter still wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
But her men always do.
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