Couldn't resist it.

[CrazyHorse]

I was in a novel once don't you know, Tango? The bastard author made me wear a moth-eaten suit and trundle about in a dilapidated Ford Escort. I mean, ok, it meant that I had little trouble in getting into character but that's hardly the point is it?! I just hope that you've been a little kinder to your subjects.

Hey, my favourite secret agent ever wore a moth-eaten suit and trundled about on the bus; Charlie Muffin, an MI6 legend.
Oh, er my guy lives in palaces and is a millionaire archer/painter. Gets all the girls too.

So that's a definite. It’s not modelled on your friendly neighbourhood CrazyHorse.

[Little Green Man]

To be honest, all I want from a book is a bodice-ruipping, heaving bosom-filled text.

Come on Tango, how much rudeness is there?

Try Fanny Hill by John Cleland* (also known as Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure). It an eighteenth centrury 'classic' but it's also got lots of rumpic-pumping in, if that's what you're after.

* Not to be confused with John McClelland the former Watford player whose only known contribution to literature is the following quote:

"We are offered players every single day. We get five or six a week."