It has been 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 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 Bradley’s
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. Bradley 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.
Bradley’s 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 old 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 do.
