Pamela Stephenson does not care to talk about her new-found self too much - a strange change for the former high- profile comedienne, the leggy blonde bit of fluff in the hit BBC comedy series Not The Nine O'Clock News (remember that show, the one with the young Rowan Atkinson and two other blokes?) and one-time host of America's Saturday Night Live. It's even stranger considering she's promoting her book. But then again, Stephenson is no ordinary author. She is the wife of Billy Connolly, and her books - all two of them - are about Connolly, so why talk about herself? In the reams of pre-publicity that meeted and greeted Bravemouth: Living With Billy Connolly - her sequel to the bestselling Billy, which sold a staggering 1.6 million copies - the wife of the madcap Scottish comedian seems happy to talk about one thing only: her wonderfully fascinating hubby. Be it the Big Yin's desire to wear frogman outfits, his attention deficit disorder; his nipple piercings and his purple goatee beard (apparently it was his way of confronting his 60th birthday and his fear of not so much going grey as turning a sort of uninteresting beige). Her pre-publicity, much like the book's contents, reveals little more than her obsession with her husband - an obsession she defends as healthy. 'Love is an obsession,' she says. 'It has that quality to it. But there are healthy obsessions, and mine is one of them.' The 53-year-old New Zealander dislikes talking about her makeover: from the rebellious, sexy 80s comic who once crashed Fergie's hen night, dressed as a policewoman, with Princess Diana, to the newly respectable, bespectacled, sober, academic mother of three girls and her career as a shrink. The latter has taken her from earning a doctorate in psychology to working as a Californian psychotherapist, a college lecturer, and an expert on sado-masochism and transgenderal problems - and getting patients to confront their fears of dentists. Bravemouth - from the name given to Connoly by former Python and LA neighbour Eric Idle - is what she wants to talk about. A shame, really, because Bravemouth is not worth talking about. The first book exposed Connolly's physical and sexually abused childhood in Glasgow, his rise to fame from banjo busker to top comic, and his alcohol and drug problems. Bravemouth takes a rather fluffy look - it's full of name-dropping and adjectives such as 'wonderful' and 'immense' - at a year in the life of their marriage, a year in which Connolly (Shock! Horror! Hide the kids and torch the livestock!) turns 60. It's a traumatic time, we are told - which is far from convincing, considering Connolly's past. Bravemouth is a sort of Meet The Osbornes, with fewer pictures and even fewer juicy bits - unless, of course, you want to hear about Connolly's penchant for hot curries and chilled loo rolls to soothe the resultant 'fiery bum syndrome'. Stephenson also details how she kisses him without his beard prickling the inside of her nose, and her fear of hubby swearing in polite company. Pamsy - as Connolly calls her - must be something of a sadomasochist herself, considering that his repertoire is based on saying f*** as often and as loudly as possible. Still, Bravemouth is selling. It was No.10 at last count in the charts, and destined to make its publisher even more profitable, largely because Connolly is so popular, so marketable and so downright readable a character. Pity that his wife - the author and shrink who prefers to be called Professor Connolly - isn't, as well. Stephenson can be credited with saving Connolly from self-destruction. She helped him kick red meat, booze and party drugs. Trouble is, this book will probably have him give up reading, as well.