RELEASE DAY - COMPLETE FAITH BY SUE BROWN

Sequel to Morning Report

For Tommy Bradley, a hand working on the Lost Cow Ranch in rural Texas, admitting his sexuality is impossible, even if his bosses, Luke and Simon, are gay—Tommy has spent his entire life hiding the truth from his homophobic parents. Then Tommy meets pastor Noah Taylor in Luke’s father’s hospital room, and his difficult secret becomes that much harder to keep.

Noah is unlike any man of God—or any man—Tommy’s ever met. For one thing, his congregation is made up primarily of GLBT individuals and their families. For another, he isn’t afraid of the attraction he feels toward Tommy, and he makes his intentions very clear. But Noah won’t hide his sexuality or his love from the world, and he won’t start a relationship with Tommy while Tommy hides his, either. Faced with the choice of losing Noah or coming out to his parents, Tommy takes his first steps out of the closet.

But Tommy isn’t the only one facing challenges. Thanks to an outpouring of hatred from Pastor Jackson and a group of ranch owners, Noah must cope with the possible loss of his church and his livelihood. 

Make sure you get your copy today!  Dreamspinner Press

Please welcome to my blog, Stephen Osborne, who will be eating cheesecake and letting us in on a snippet of his new novel, Wrestling with Jesus.

So I shall sit back, pick up my spoon and hand over the reins to Stephen...

The character of Kyle Temple is based in part on a real person. Several years ago I was, as unbelievable as it sounds to anyone who knows me, a part-time professional wrestler. Mostly I just did it for fun, although I did make a little money at it. As I had a boyish face and was thin, I was what is known as a jobber. A jobber, for those of you who don't know, is the poor sod who the crowd loves but gets the crap beat out of him by the mean "heel." I was also an actor at the time, so I "sold" the pain pretty well, if I do say so myself! Anyway, I had many bouts with a guy whose name was Kyle (last name NOT Temple). Physically, he is the model for the character in the book. Kyle wasn't huge by professional wrestling standards, but he was a heck of a lot bigger than me, so it made sense that he always beat the snot out of me. I'd get a few licks in, but I always ended up in a heap in the middle of the ring. Kyle was pretty studly, I must say. Nice body. Shoulder length brown hair that flew all over when he stomped me. Neatly trimmed beard and mustache. Unlike the Kyle in Wrestling With Jesus, though, this guy wasn't mentally stunted.

THAT aspect of the character comes from a guy I once dated. Perry was gorgeous, but not bright. I was appearing in a production of Torch Song Trilogy at the time and, no matter how many times I told him it was a stage play, Perry always referred to it as "that movie I was in." For Perry, if it involved acting, it must be a movie. Not one of the world's greatest thinkers, but he made up for it in other areas...

Blurb:

Bookstore owner Randy Stone is smitten. His new boyfriend, Kyle Temple, is sweet, hot, attentive, and great in bed. But introducing Kyle to his family takes courage, because Randy’s parents can be a little judgmental, and Kyle is ten years younger than Randy, a small-time pro wrestler, and dumber than the proverbial sack of hammers. Needless to say, Randy’s parents aren’t exactly thrilled, and even his best friend is skeptical.

Despite the challenges, Randy is determined to tough it out for Kyle. After all, enduring a few scornful comments from his mother is nothing compared to what Kyle’s going through trying to quit smoking for Randy. When a hypnotherapy session designed to help with Kyle's cravings leaves him quoting Jesus Christ—in Aramaic—Randy’s parents are suddenly the least of their problems. Once word gets out, their privacy is destroyed. News crews follow them everywhere, and everyone who knows Kyle seems determined to make a buck. It’s a mess that could make Kyle’s dreams of wrestling in the UWE come true—but what about his dream of being with Randy?

Link: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=2881

Exerpt: 

THE folded chair hit the back of Kyle’s head with a resounding thud that could be heard at the top of the bleachers. Kyle flew forward, hitting the ropes. His opponent, a rather good-looking Hispanic kid who went by the unlikely name of El Toro, swung again and slammed the chair into the center of Kyle’s back. Kyle collapsed to the canvas, seemingly dead to the world, as the crowd cheered.

Randy Stone, sitting far up in the bleachers in an attempt to distance himself from the more rabid wrestling fans in attendance, winced in sympathy. “I don’t care what he says. That’s got to hurt like a son of a bitch.”

Randy’s companion, a raven-haired beauty and card-carrying fag hag named Debbie Jacobs, munched on her popcorn. “I can’t see what attracts you to the guy. If you ask me, he’s got a hot body, but that’s about it. He’s got the brains of a split pea.”

“You haven’t even met him yet,” Randy replied, the tension in his stomach mounting to Huge Fucking Butterfly levels. He’d been worried that Debbie would be skeptical about his blossoming romance with a professional wrestler, but he’d hoped she wouldn’t start off with quite such an openly negative attitude.

“He just got hit by a chair. Twice. And he let the guy do it. Believe me, he’s got the brains of a split pea, and that’s being insulting to split peas. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure this Kyle guy is fine for a quick fling, but you’ve been acting like he’s The One, and I just can’t see that.”

“He’s sweet,” Randy replied. “He’s just a really nice guy, and he treats me like I’m Einstein.”

“Compared to him, you are.”

“I admit, at first it was his hot bod that attracted me, but it’s developed beyond that. I’m really falling for the guy.”

“Seems like you might fall quite literally. I’m betting he’ll want to body slam you before sex or something like that. He looks like he’s got that gorilla mentality.” Debbie chewed more popcorn. “How on earth did you ever meet up with this guy? Didn’t you say he was a closet case? You didn’t meet up at a club, then. And I’m pretty sure he isn’t a customer at your bookstore. That guy never progressed beyond Hop on Pop.” She found a kernel that hadn’t popped and spit it back into the bag.

“Would you give him a chance?” Randy pleaded. “I really like this guy, Debbie. I want the two of you to get along.”

An older gentleman near them was staring not at the ring but at Debbie, or more precisely at Debbie’s chest. She caught him and flashed the guy an angry glare. “Hey, Gomer, the action is down there in the ring.” The man flushed and shifted his gaze back to the middle of the gym.

In the ring, the tide of events had turned. Kyle Temple had managed to kick El Toro in the genitals without the referee catching him. After several punches to El Toro’s face that would, in a real fight, have resulted in the Hispanic boy suddenly sporting at the very least a bloody nose but instead simply gave El Toro a stunned look, Kyle leaped up and dropkicked the handsome kid right out of the ring.

“So violent,” Debbie muttered.

“It’s not real,” Randy reminded her.

“Well, duh. That poor little bastard would have been wheeled out of here on a cart minutes ago if these blows were actually landing full force.”

“It’s like playacting,” Randy continued, picking up on Debbie’s condescending attitude toward his new beau’s chosen profession. “They’re enjoying themselves and entertaining the crowd. What’s wrong with that?”

A grimy teen seated in front of Randy turned around, a sneer on his pimpled face. “You can’t fake that shit, dude. Say that any louder and Kyle Temple will come up here and pound the fuck out of you.”

Randy shrugged. “He pounded the fuck out of me pretty good last night, actually.”

Debbie laughed, nearly choking on her popcorn.

The teen frowned in confusion before turning back to watch the action in the ring.

Sweat was making Kyle’s long light-brown hair stick to his face and neck. He took a second to pull some strands out of his eyes before hoisting El Toro over his shoulders for the Torture Rack finisher. El Toro screamed his submission, and the referee quickly called for the bell to ring.

“I don’t suppose he did that last night,” Debbie said as Kyle unceremoniously dumped his opponent’s body onto the canvas.

“Can’t say he did. But then, I wasn’t putting up much of a fight, either.”

The referee held up Kyle’s hand in triumph as the crowd booed loudly. El Toro was lying at Kyle’s feet, curled up in a fetal position. For good measure, Kyle kicked the beaten wrestler in the stomach before climbing out of the ring.

Debbie shook her head. “I don’t get it. He won. Why is everyone booing?”

“Kyle’s the heel. He’s the bad guy. The crowd is supposed to hate him. If they cheered he’d actually be upset, since that would mean he wasn’t presenting his character correctly.”

Narrowing her eyes at Randy, Debbie said, “It worries me that you know all this. This is a side of you I’ve never seen before. You didn’t grow up putting your friends in headlocks and half nelsons, did you?”

Randy helped himself to a small handful of her popcorn. “Kyle’s been explaining it all to me. It’s really quite fascinating. It’s a world unto its own, kind of like a circus in a way. And yes, I grew up putting my friends in headlocks and half nelsons. It was the only way I knew to get some body contact with them.”

The announcer climbed into the ring as Kyle and, more slowly, El Toro made their way out of the gym. With the usual announcer gusto, he introduced the next bout. Two more wrestlers entered the ring, climbing in at their appropriate corners.

“I see what you mean,” Debbie said, staring forward. “About it being like the circus. Oh. My. God. They’re midgets.”

Randy’s cheeks reddened. “Yeah, I guess they are. Although isn’t the current politically correct term vertically challenged individuals?”

“They’re midget wrestlers.”

“I’m sure they—”

“Your new boyfriend works with midgets. Midgets who wrestle. Do you see what I’m saying here?”

“Debbie,” Randy said, giving her his best puppy dog look, “I really want you to like Kyle. I want you guys to get along. It’s important to me.”

Debbie’s glare melted somewhat. “I’ll try,” she promised, “but it’s not going to be easy. I mean, look at the people watching this shit. That kid”—she indicated the dirt-streaked teen in front of Randy—“hasn’t had a bath this century, and the last book he cracked open had things pop back up at him.”

The kid in question turned. “Hey, fuck you, lady. I had a bath last week.”

The look Debbie returned was stony. “I stand corrected.”

Randy grabbed her elbow. “Come on. We don’t have to stick around for the rest of the show. We can go find Kyle and go out and get something to eat.” Randy wasn’t actually eager to get his best friend and his new boyfriend face to face, but he knew Debbie’s penchant for picking fights, and he wanted to get her away from the teenager as quickly as possible.

Debbie stood, brushing popcorn remains off her blouse. “I guess we can get something to eat. This Kyle does eat something other than squirrel, doesn’t he?”

As they passed the teen on their way down the bleachers, he looked at Randy challengingly. “Hey, mister. Were you serious? Is Kyle Temple a fag? Did he really fuck you last night?”

Randy stopped in his tracks. He hadn’t actually paid much attention to what he’d been saying, having spent most of his life blurting out whatever was on his mind regardless of who was present. Remembering Kyle’s closeted status, he looked around to make sure no one but the kid could hear his reply. “Yeah. Yeah he is, and yeah, he did.”

The teen looked thoughtful. “Next time he plows your ass,” he said, “can you ask him for an autograph for me?”

 Being an avid WWE fan (and yes I have a humongous crush on Jean-Paul Le'Vesque - Triple H to you uneducated people out there), I cannot wait to read this book.  Thank you for sharing with us Stephen and I wish you many sales!  I know you've sold me!

SILVER SHORTS - WEEK 15 - FREE READ

THEMES FOR THIS WEEK:

"I/HE/SHE FELT THE EARTH MOVE..."
"EVERYONE PLAYS THE FOOL SOMETIME...."
"SITTING HOME ON A SOFA ON A SATURDAY AFTERNOON,
AND
"HIS/HER BODY SWAYED WITH THE MUSIC, UNABLE TO RESIST THE BEAT..."

It's free so you have nothing to lose and 8 scintillating stories to gain, by LM Brown, Meredith Russell, Ryssa Edwards, Freddy MacKay, Lily Sawyer, SA Garcia, RJ Scott and your's truly.  So make sure you head on over to Silver Publishing and pre-order your copy.  Available to download from 11 April 2012.


I chose the theme, "I/She/He felt the earth move."  So here is my contribution...


The Day the Earth Actually Moved...

    The earth moved. Davis had always considered that to be one of the most ridiculous of phrases. Usually squealed by women who had just experienced their first real orgasm—well, the first one they weren't responsible for themselves. The last four minutes, however, had quickly changed his mind, because the earth had fucking moved!
    Growing up in a middleclass home in Scotland didn't exactly prepare you for an honest to God earthquake. Why would it? The British Isles were devoid of the gut-churning fear of being woken up by your apartment shaking around your ears. What earthquakes there were, usually passed unnoticed by
everyone except the seismometer.
    Davis clung to the walls as he tried to walk across the shaking floor to the bathroom. He'd seen it on TV once; supposedly the bathtub was the safest place to be during an earthquake. He wasn't exactly sure why it was the safest place. The safest place as far as he was concerned right now would be Glasgow. As books and ornaments fell from his bookshelves, Davis had a swift and sudden longing for his mother's shortbread, could almost taste it on his tongue as he all but threw himself into the tub.
    Davis lay down, wincing at the coldness of the plastic against his bare skin. He brought his knees up to his chest and buried his head in his arms, in a feeble attempt to protect himself. Cursing loudly as the sound of breaking crockery from the kitchen reached his ears, Davis curled into himself tighter. How long was this going to last? Was this it? Naked in a bathtub? His mother would be so proud. He could hear her voice
now.
    "Didn't I tell you nae good would come of ya moving to that city? How am I gonnae be able to show ma face in the shop? Elsie McCreedy will be pointing her finger and whispering behind ma back. There goes Ida Butler. Her son died in a bathtub with his arse hangin' out. My God, the shame of it."
    He curled his hands around his head, burying his fingers in his mop of blond hair, wishing, not the first time since he'd arrived in LA, that he'd listened to his mother. Why the hell had he jumped in the bath? The noise of the quake seemed to increase in decibel level, bouncing off the walls of the tub around him—increasing the beat of his heart and the tightness of his bowel. He should have just gone with his initial reaction…pulling the covers over his head and reciting as many Hail Marys as he could, like the good Catholic boy he was supposed to be.
    As suddenly as it started, the shaking subsided as if someone had flicked a switch. Davis waited a few more moments and, when the world remained steady, he slowly unfurled and pushed himself up to sitting in the tub. The bathroom looked a wreck. Most of his toiletries were on the floor, those in glass bottles obviously broken and the odor of several aftershaves merging together wafted up to meet him. He wrinkled his nose and began planning his path through the shards of broken glass without cutting himself when the aftershock hit.
    Not that Davis paid much attention to the aftershock because something heavy hit the back of his head and he yelped loudly. He put his fingers to his scalp and pulled them away to look. Unfortunately, Davis was not blessed with the strongest of constitutions and when he saw the sticky darkness of blood on his skin, he did what any self-respecting beer-swilling, caber-tossing Scotsman would do. He fainted.
    The voice sounded as though it came from underwater, and Davis tried to latch onto it as it coaxed him from the dark he was cloaked in. It was a warm, rich voice that sent a shiver down his spine and a pleasant tightening in his gut, like the burn of a really good Glenfiddich as it slid down your throat. He would have quite happily listened to the sound of it forever, until the voice said firmly, "Dude, if you don't stop smiling and open your eyes, I'm gonna let Mrs Winkleman from three-B in here to give you mouth to mouth."
    Davis's eyes fluttered open and he blinked owlishly until the face belonging to the voice swam into focus. Blinking again, just to make sure he was actually awake, Davis stared into the deepest brown eyes he'd ever seen and swallowed hard. "Am I dead?"
    "Not quite," the half-naked man looming over him replied. "I'm James from four-C. You didn't answer when we did the door to door checking everyone was okay, so Mr Anders from three-A picked the lock."
    "Mr Anders? The guy who's older than God?"
    "I know," James chuckled, holding out his hand to Davis. "I didn't like to ask how he'd acquired that dubious skill. But… I'm glad he did."
    Davis felt himself blush from head to foot as James's gaze traveled over his naked body, pausing at his cock lying against his thigh. Of course, that lingering gaze had his traitorous length twitching in interest… well, he was only human.
    "Would you like a hand?"
    "I beg your pardon?"
    "A hand out of the tub," James clarified with a grin and pulled when Davis grabbed onto his offered hand.
    Wrapping the only towel not tossed onto the floor around his waist and securing it before his cock embarrassed him further, Davis ran a hand through his hair and winced at the movement. "Something hit me," he mumbled. They peered over the rim of the tub and Davis heard James chuckle at the shampoo bottle lying there. Davis gasped as James's bare shoulder brushed against his and their eyes met in a glance filled with mutual promise.
    "You okay?" James asked.
    Davis nodded, his grin echoed by the man beside him and mumbled, "I thought I felt the earth move again."

The End

Excerpt from All I See is You - current WIP

“It's going to be fun, Josh, trust me,” Greg said his tone filled with conviction, curling his fingers around Josh’s to help him.

“Yeah, a week with the lovebirds, I can't wait,” Josh replied teasingly, easing himself to the edge of the seat and then standing up when he felt the ground beneath him. “Don't forget, just 'cos I can't see, don’t mean I can't hear the two of you sucking each other’s faces off.  So try to keep the smooching down to a minimum.”

“Very funny,” Mario scoffed as he hauled their cases out of truck bed. “’Cause it was so much fun spending most of college listening to you pant and groan your way through half of the football team.”

Chuckling and stretching his arms over his head to loosen his muscles after the long drive, Josh poked his tongue out. “Yeah, but at least you got to watch too.  I can't even sneak a peek now.”

“There is so much wrong with that statement that I ain’t going anywhere near it,” Greg said with disdain. Josh grinned widely as Greg cupped his elbow and gently guided him along the dirt path. The gift of sight was not exactly necessary to see the expression on Greg’s face, it was there in his tone.  Vision was not necessary to know what expression was on Greg’s face. He only hoped his smile was convincing as Greg added, “This is going to be great. A week camping with my two favorite guys? And it’ll be good for you, Josh. You’re out of that damned apartment, that’s all that matters.”

The three of them fell silent as they walked across the uneven ground and Josh knew that his friends were thinking about the accident. Each lost in their thoughts. Not that he remembered much about the early days what with him being in a coma. But he remembered waking up in the darkness, calling Alec’s name. Josh's accident eight months ago had changed their lives irrevocably. His recovery had been long and arduous, with Greg and Mario beside him every step of the way.

Always an avid sportsman, Josh had been talked into trying some white water rafting by his boyfriend, Alec.  Eager to accept any challenge that was tossed at him, Josh had thrown himself into it just like he did everything, with gusto and complete commitment.  His first two runs down the rapids were a success.  Josh had never felt more alive in his entire life, the adrenaline coursing through his body giving him a rush like nothing he had experienced before. 

Alec, however, after a few beers had managed to talk Josh into having another try, in the dark no less.  The two men had taken the kayaks out and Josh had hit a rock before they even got to the rapids, tipping his kayak over and him out into the swirling water.  He'd hit his head and Alec had made his way back to the rafting station screaming for help with an unconscious Josh draped over the front of Alec's kayak.  When Josh had woken up forty-eight hours later, it became apparent that the damage was permanent. He was blind and Alec was gone.

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BLURB:

Detective Remington frickin’ hates the missing persons detail, but a cold fury builds in the pit of his stomach when he realizes that over the past three months six boys have disappeared from the smaller communities that surround the greater Phoenix area. All reported to be runaways looking to escape their shitty lives, but Remy’s starting to put together a different picture and he doesn’t like it one damn bit.

Inspector Jamie Mainwaring stares at the six reports, willing them to make sense. Six boys, six months, all from just outside of London, which meant six different investigations. All of the boys were between the ages of ten and fifteen, all purportedly runaways from dysfunctional families. Something was rotten in Denmark.

There are always runaways. Every small town loses them—every big city collects them. Kids look for freedom and discover they have more to lose than they ever thought possible. London and Phoenix, culture and cowboys, nothing linking these two sprawling metropolitan areas. Nothing except a hit on a computer data search.

Two cops, one a cowboy, the other a Lord. A secret government agency, human trafficking, and a blazing hot mutual distraction.

What the hell have Remington and Mainwaring gotten themselves into?

EXCERPT:

“Who the hell are you?” Jamie asked incredulously, not expecting to find himself staring down the barrel of a gun. Regardless of the gorgeous hunk of man-flesh at the other end of it. Rephrase that, the naked gorgeous hunk of man-flesh at the other end of it, as the man's loosely secured towel slipped to the floor. His gaze traveled slowly over the man’s ruggedly handsome face and down the muscled planes of his torso. Pausing longer than was perhaps polite on the long thick length of the man’s cock laying heavy against his thigh, he tried not to lick his lips as he continued down the muscled legs to the bare feet poking from beneath the dropped towel on the floor. Maybe a little homespun and unrefined for Jamie's tastes, but undeniably gorgeous all the same. “Well, I feel slightly over-dressed,” he drawled sarcastically. “If I'd known it was going to be a slumber party, I'd have packed my jammies."

“James Manwearing?” Remy questioned glancing from the ID to Jamie and back again.

Suddenly the man-flesh looked less edible as eyebrows rose high under the shaggy brown hair falling in deep brown eyes. Jamie grabbed his black wallet from the stranger’s fingers and shoved it into his jacket pocket. “It’s pronounced Mannering,” he snapped. “I’d ask to see your badge, but I don't think you can show me anything I haven't already seen.”

Jamie strode across the room to pull back the flimsy curtain and peer out into the street. Good God, what a dump! He had no idea dives such as this one even still existed in a city as affluent as London. What had good-looking done to deserve this? More to the point, what had he done to deserve this?

One minute he’s sitting at his desk, going over the latest reports with one of his team and the next he’s being dragged into the Chief Inspector’s office and told to clear his calendar and report to this address. There had been no explanation, just the steely glare of his superior and a sticky-note slapped into his palm. Jamie had worked for the man long enough to know that all he could do was follow orders and hope there was an explanation waiting for him when he arrived.

What he hadn’t been expecting was a naked man-mountain to open the door and stick a gun in his face. Turning to the man who, thankfully, had shoved some jeans and a shirt on, Jamie put his hands on his hips. “Okay, who are you and what the hell am I doing here?”

“Name’s Remington and I was gonna ask you the same thing, Detective Man-wearing.”

* * *

“Inspector. Not detective. Inspector. And it’s pronounced Mannering. Inspector Mannering,” he repeated, pronouncing it slowly, as if speaking to a particularly dim-witted child.

Remy ignored the clipped voice, narrowed his eyes, and returned the thorough inspection he’d been given by Man-wearing. Height-wise they were well-matched, with only an inch or two difference, but he had a good twenty pounds on the inspector. The man had black hair that curled over his collar and fell in his face, and deep set eyes that were currently looking out from under a wrinkled brow. Imagine that, the in-spec-tor looked annoyed.

The pansy ass would likely get along well with Oswald, but probably didn’t have clue about real police work. Fucking shit! Was this how cops dressed in London? Polished black shoes, a charcoal gray suit, and a fruity green shirt and tie. He supposed the guy was trying to show off those dark green eyes. His damned outfit probably cost more than Remy’s pick up truck back home.

“Like what you see, Detective?”

“Hardly,” Remy snorted. “You look like you belong in a bank. I doubt you’d recognize a bad guy if he jumped up and bit you on the ass. In fact—”

A sharp rap on the door interrupted the tirade he seemed to be building toward. Pushing aside his unreasonable anger, Remy repeated the door opening routine. This time it was a woman who entered at the wave of his gun. She reached into the pocket of her red power blazer and removed her credentials for inspection.

Remy kept the gun aimed at her stomach and took the leather case. “Julia Forsythe, Director, Regional Police Services—European Division. INTERPOL. Guess that makes you a pretty big deal,” Remy said.

“I guess it does,” she agreed.

“For God’s sake, Remington. Put the gun away. Director, it is an honor to make your acquaintance, I’m James Mainwaring.”

Remy ignored their exchange. He locked the door and tucked his gun in his waistband before moving to sit on the edge of the bed. The newcomer was a compact woman in her mid-fifties, with a cap of short salt and pepper hair. Despite the elegant exterior, she carried herself like a cop. He liked that.

“So, a director and an inspector. Somebody want to clue me in on why a plain old detective from Phoenix is here?” He was watching both of them, so he didn’t miss the quick nod of Mainwaring’s head.

“You’re here, Detective, because I asked for you. For both of you. Now, James, if you’ll take a seat, I’ll explain.”

“Call me Jamie,” the other man added quickly, and Remy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Jamie. Of course.

TEN THINGS YOU MIGHT NOT KNOW ABOUT ME!

This is me!  Just in case you are unfamiliar with the Worrall :)

You may be interested in these facts, you may just think I've lost my mind... either way works :)

1.  I have a small scar on the knuckle of my middle finger of my left hand... this was obtained not by some daredevil exploit, or during the saving of a small child... I got it when I scraped my finger down the wall trying to save myself when I fell out of the house one morning.

2.  I cry at the drop of a hat... every episode of Little House on the Prairie, at adverts, even when Smurfette's mouse died in an episode of the Smurfs.  I know... sap I hear you cry.

3.  I once walked home on a broken ankle without noticing.  Of course, this may have been after several bottles of extremely strong cider and the incapacity to remember my own name, let alone register pain.  Bloody hurt the next day though - I was in a cast for six weeks!

4.  I am a huge Elvis fan.  He was all my mum listened to as I was growing up and the love of his music and that beautiful face rubbed off on me.  When I went to Graceland seven years ago, it was raining, which I was eternally grateful for, because in the Garden of Remembrance, no one could see me cry. (Told you, drop of a hat)

5.  I went to a Michael Bolton concert once and decided not to put my glasses on.  My friend pointed out when I asked her if Michael had had his hair cut, that I was watching the guitarist sitting next to him.  *The shame*


6.  I had had slightly too much falling down water one night at a party and I apparently went out to kiss my car goodnight.  Believe me, I haven't been able to live that one down in twenty years.

7.  My favourite food is Steak and Kidney pie.  And it must be eaten in a certain way.  First you take the lid of the pie off and eat that.  Then you scoop out all the filling and eat that.  Then you eat the pastry :)  See, you learn something new every day.

8.  I could spot Stefan Edberg's (Swedish tennis player and two time winner of Wimbledon) bum in a line-up. I'm not going to explain why... I don't need to... do I?

9.  I am addicted to Pepsi Max.  Seriously... if I don't have some every day, I get twitchy!

10.  I fall over a lot.  Down stairs, down steps, even just down a kerb.  It has plagued all my life.  My oldest friend Lisa will tell you of the time I fell over running for the 193 on the way home from school.  My friend Teresa will tell you how I elegantly threw myself down the stairs at a Jason Manns' concert a couple of years ago - and indeed how I fell ONTO the bus.  *shakes head*
 
There you are, a little insight into the farce that is my life - I hope you enjoyed it :)