Yes, this is that extra special annual event when Steve Brewer* sticks his head out of his burrow, and if he sees his shadow we're in for another six weeks of winter. Mind you, as Steve's turning fifty today I wonder if he'll be able to see anything at all, having probably spent his last night as a pre-quintegenarian drinking his own bodyweight in harsh grain liquor.
I first met Steve at Left Coast Crime in Bristol, we were to be on the same panel. He was wearing a fetching little, red, off-the-shoulder number, with those high-heel slingbacks he likes so much. Not an easy look to carry off when you're about seven foot eight with a Grizzly Adams beard, but... well... let's be honest -- he looks more like an escaped mental patient than Greta Garbo, but it's the thought that counts. More medication would probably have helped.
But even if he did look like a transsexual hooker who'd let herself go, Steve was lovely, funny bloke. And he was even funnier when it came time to clamber up onto the little podium / stage thing to do the panel. Damn his rheumy, ancient eyes. Upstaging me with his bigger beard, taller personage and slinkier dress.
Oh yes, and he also writes damn fine, very funny crime novels. He said in a shameless book pimpage kind of way.
Anyway, Happy Birthday Steve!
* Photo nicked from NYC Photo