Ralph: (As if he doesn’t care.) Oh, that. I’ve been nominated before, you know.
Mrs Fiennes: Yes, my darling, but this is your fourth time. Surely you’re going to win an Oscar this time, just like Colin Fir -
Ralph: What???
Mrs Fiennes: Oh, er, nothing, I didn’t say anything. Are you thinking about this year’s King’s Birthday Honours List? Maybe you’ll get that knighthood?
Ralph: (Very unconvincingly.) Me? I don’t think about these things!
Mrs Fiennes: Of course you don’t. That’s why you mutter “Yes, Your Majesty” and “Thank you, Your Majesty” every night in your sleep.
Ralph: No I don’t!
Mrs Fiennes: Yes, my love, that’s right, of course you don’t. So what is it then?
Ralph: I still don’t know if I’m going to be M in the next James Bond film!
Mrs Fiennes: Oh Ralph, stop worrying. Nobody knows who’s going to be in the next James Bond film!
2025 . PST (The Norwegian Police Security Service) headquarters. The facility is hidden under a glacier by a fjord. A helpful sign by the highway points visitors to the entrance. Agent Randi Ness walks into the laboratories of Ø-branch.
Ø-Branch: - I'm glad you came by. I was just thinking of Randi Ness. Let me show you our latest gadgets. Here we have a new pair of skis for you. As you know, Ø-branch are world leaders in ski gadgets.
Randi: - Let me guess - missiles in the ski poles?
Ø-branch: - Missiles built into the skis poles? You're working with professionals here. That's completely ridiculous. Who would do such a thing when you can just use your service pistol?
Randi: - Obviously.
Ø-branch: - Instead the gadget helps you ski faster than ever.
Randi: - Jet skis?
Ø-branch: - No, you'd be on your back immediately! The rockets engines are in the ski poles. The engines start when you push this button on the grip.
Randi: -Interesting. I have to be careful not to push the button when I use the poles like walking sticks on flat ground. The force on my arms would be like enormous. Just imagine the strength of my hand grip just to hold on!
Ø-branch: - Your pole position is very important.
Randi: - I have been working on my pole technique for a long time.
Ø-branch: I'm glad to hear it! (they walk over to a table). Our next idea is something very different. We have experimented on how to administer chemicals into meals. Truth serums, sleep agents and so on. We found the dish that hides the taste chemicals the best ....
Randi: Smalehove? Yummy! I wonder if there are any problem with this solution. Right now I can't think of any.
Ø-branch: I can't think what the problem could be. We've tested it on several Norwegians and the tests went without a hitch. However many of the people testing smalahove with truth serum said some shocking things about the Norwegian cuisine. Bordering on treasonous statements if you ask me ....
Randi: Can I have a parachute in case I should ski off a cliff?
Ø-Branch: A parachute on your back just in case you miss all the snow and find yourself falling off a cliff? Now you're just being silly, Randi. That would never happen.
That's different, N24, though I see we have still to cure you of your obsession with smalehove. Still, that's from a person who eats haggis so what would I know?
Bond narrowed his eyes against the sleet the wind was blowing directly against him. The unexpected cold spell hadn’t affected the number of tourists disembarking before him, making his job harder than he had anticipated. Still, he had memorised the photograph M had shown him earlier.
“You’d think we were a bunch of babysitters, 007”, M had growled through a cloud of pipe smoke. “Not our job to operate inside these borders, you’d think the Minister would know that.”
“Perhaps it’s because we’re only handling one leg of the journey, sir”, said Bond, examining the photograph he had been given. “The French would see him up to Dover, we take over from there, and make sure he gets on his flight to the States.”
M harumphed unhappily. “That’s exactly what you have to do, get him on the right plane. Like I said, babysitting. Fine way for my top man, er, one of my top men to be spending his time.”
Bond repressed a smile at M’s unguarded comment.
“I’ll see that he gets there, sir.”
And now it was two o’clock and James Bond was watching the passengers disembark from the cross-Channel ferry. It didn’t take long to spot the slight, dark-haired figure. Bond walked over, neither hurrying nor lagging. The man looked at him, unsmiling.
“Good afternoon. I’m here to see you to the airport.”
“Fine”.
He was carrying a military style duffel bag, not particularly heavy. Bond didn’t offer to carry it as they headed to the car park. He’d taken the Aston Martin from the pool. It was a car he was familiar with and liked. It had certain unique accessories which he didn’t think he’d be needing on this trip. He unlocked the door, and opened the boot.
“Nice car”, said the man, his first unprompted words since his arrival. He put his bag in the boot.
“It’s not mine, it belongs to the company”, said Bond.
“I see.”
The engine started smoothly and they headed off. There was no initial attempt at small talk, but after ten miles or so the man began speaking as if he had only been waiting a long time for someone to talk to.
“I’ll be going to the States, you know, Mr …”
“Bond. James Bond. Yes, they told me.”
“I’ve been away a few years. Took me a while before I wanted to come back.”
The car sped on. Bond resisted asking the obvious question, and after another few miles the answer came unbidden.
“I just thought I wasn’t making any difference where I was. Back in the States, I know that I can make a difference.”
“You want to make a difference?” asked Bond.
“I think everyone wants to make a difference. A difference to the world, not just to those around them.”
“I see.”
“Do you think you’ve ever made a difference, Mr Bond?” He turned in his seat to look at the driver.
“I wouldn’t know about that”, said Bond. “I rely on my higher-ups making those kind of decisions then I carry out their orders.”
“A soldier. No thought, just action.”
“If you like to put it that way.”
They sat in silence as the car hurried on the last few miles. Bond followed the signs to the airport, thinking as he always did that the building work here never seemed to finish. They parked and walked over to the terminal. A few moments with paperwork then it was time for Bond to go. There was no handshake. The man looked calmly into Bond’s eyes, or was it calmness? Bond thought he could see a kind of deadness there, an insulation from feelings and other people.
“I’ll say goodbye, Mr Bond.”
“Yes”, said Bond. “Goodbye Mr Oswald.”
Bond turned and walked back to his car. He wondered if he’d ever hear about the man again. Probably not, he decided. It was a big world; not everyone could make a difference.
Just when I think that you couldn’t possibly do any better than the already superb writing that you put into this thread, Barbel, you go and post an absolutely stunning piece of fiction worthy of the highest praise. I feel lucky to have read this. 👏👏👏
Yeah, well, sometimes nothin' can be a real cool hand.
1962. Pinewood Studios. Producers Cubby Broccoli and Harry Saltzman are proudly showing Ian Fleming around the sets of “Dr No” while Production Designer Ken Adam follows them.
Broccoli: …and here, this is the cell Dr No puts Bond in after their dinner together.
Fleming: Very good, that’s excellent. (Ken Adam beams happily.) It’s just like I had imagined it.
Saltzman: And this is inside the tunnels Bond has to crawl through. That part there (He indicates a section of differently-coloured metal.) is where we pretend it’s roasting hot when Bond crawls over it.
Fleming: Pretend?
Broccoli: Of course we pretend, we don’t really want to cook our leading actor. (He was to revise this opinion in years to come.)
Fleming: And then we get to the end of the tunnel and Bond shoots out into the air from halfway up a cliff, to land in a fenced-off area containing a giant squid, which he –
Saltzman: Er, Ian?
Fleming: Yes?
Broccoli: There’s no giant squid.
Fleming: No giant squid? And why not? Could your designer here not come up with something?
Adam: I’m sure I could, but the money just wasn’t there, you see, Mr Fleming.
Saltzman: We’re on a very tight budget, Ian. Those paintings in M’s office were only cardboard, for example.
We had to borrow someone’s house to stand in for Strangways’ house at the start of the film, and those fish you can see in Dr No’s dining room caused us no end of trouble.
Fleming: But the readers will be looking forward to seeing James Bond fight with a giant squid!
Broccoli: Can’t be done, I’m afraid. But come over here and let’s look at Miss Taro’s bungalow. That’s where Bond shoots Professor Dent.
Fleming: Miss Taro’s bungalow? Professor Dent?
Saltzman: Perhaps you’d prefer to see the casino set?
Fleming: Casino?
Broccoli: Yes, where Bond meets Sylvia Trench.
Fleming: Sylvia Trench? Professor Dent? Did any of you read my novel at all?
(He stomps off furiously. There is a pause.)
Saltzman: Well, that went better than I thought.
Broccoli: Yes, much better than expected. Good thing we didn’t tell him we’ve put Felix Leiter in this story, too.
Fleming: (From off.) I heard that!
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 28,215Chief of Staff
Two more crackers…the writing in the first one is particularly good 🍸
I don't know where you found this intel, Barbel. All I can say is that you should check under your car every time you use it, never drink from unsealed bottles and avoid windows in high buildings. Never drink anything that glows in the dark. Good luck! 👍️😁
MayDay: Yes, Max, I’m sure. James Bond has survived us knocking him out and throwing him in the back of a Rolls-Royce into a deep pool of water. Our men have identified him at Stacey Sutton’s mansion, and we know that CIA agent Chuck Lee is meeting them there tonight.
Zorin: I see, I see…
MayDay: So this is the perfect opportunity!
Zorin: It certainly is.
MayDay: We can kill them -
Zorin: You can hide in the back of Chuck Lee’s car and kill him when he gets back into it, then drive away making Bond and Sutton think that he’s still alive and everything is all right.
MayDay: But -
Zorin: You can lean over the seat and strangle him, just like you did that fake chauffeur Tibbett.
MayDay: But Max, I -
Zorin: Then take his car somewhere and dump him, maybe in a river.
MayDay: But listen Max, we could have someone hide in the back of Bond’s car and kill him and Sutton instead of Lee.
Zorin: But MayDay -
MayDay: Better still, have me in one and Scarbine in the other and kill them all. Problem solved.
Zorin: MayDay, just you leave the thinking to me and I’ll leave the killing to you.
The constable’s voice was polite, the hints of boredom well concealed. He had a dozen other things he wanted to be doing, and two dozen other things he ought to have been doing, but he was on community duty this week and had pulled the short straw of answering this particular call.
“Well, I really don’t know, what do you think Geoffrey?”
The husband jumped as if suddenly awakened. “Oh, can’t say, really, maybe five years or so?”
His wife glared scornfully, “It’s much more than five years! Really, Geoffrey, can’t you take note of anything?”
The young constable hastily interceded, not wishing to add a domestic dispute to his woes. He said “Well, perhaps you might tell me the first time you were disturbed?”
“That would be the first time he brought one of those … those women home.”
“What was the problem?”
“Well, I don’t like to say, but … the bed. Those noises from the bed!”
The constable was alarmed and his hand sidled to his radio. “He was attacking her? Assaulting her?”
The woman turned very red.
“Well… no, at least I don’t think so. The bed was making these, these trampoline noises. It was different every time. Sometimes long and slow, sometimes very fast and frenzied.”
It was the constable’s turn to redden. “Well, madam, there isn’t any crime there that I can see.”
“It keeps us awake at night! Doesn’t it, Geoffrey?”
The husband looked up from his daydream. “Oh, yes, dear, anything you say.”
“It was different every time, you see.”
“And did you hear anybody talking when this was going on?” asked the constable.
“Well, yes, but that was always the woman saying the same thing. That didn’t change.”
“And what did she say?”
“She said… Oh, James…”
“Oh, James?” asked the constable, puzzled.
The woman said, “Yes, that’s right. Oh, James.”
“Well”, said the constable, “that doesn’t seem too bad to me.”
“Listen, lad”, said the husband, “you try listening to that three times a night for the last sixty years and then tell me it doesn’t seem too bad!”
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 28,215Chief of Staff
I write to express my severe disappointment in the standards of your work. Only recently I have been reading “Casino Royale”, which I understand to be the first in the famed series of adventures of your character James Bond.
After a sedate start I was shocked to find the use of the word “breasts” on p68, the word “nipples” on p188, the word “protuberances” used in a most definitely sexual context on p39, and the word “buttocks” on p139. And p187.
Perhaps most disturbing was the use of the word “bitch” as almost the very last word of the book itself. There are further disturbing uses of words which I would like to bring to your attention, but my handkerchief supply is running low.
I trust that further instalments in your series will be more restrained in their language.
Yours indignantly
Miss A. Snowflake
Dear Miss Snowflake
Mr Fleming’s publishers have passed your letter on to us, as the screenwriters of the most recent version of the novel in question. Sadly, we are obliged to inform you that Mr Fleming passed away just over sixty years ago, the novel itself having been written over seventy years ago.
These dates are very important in our reply. The book was written in a different time, with different standards of language being understood by the general public as well as popular writers such as Mr Fleming who is far from being alone in his use of the terms you have indicated and indeed many other words.
We suggest that perhaps you might enjoy the 1967 film version of this story.
We hope you will understand and will enjoy the next novel in Mr Fleming’s series. It is called “Live And Let Die”.
Yours sincerely
N. Purvis
R. Wade
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 28,215Chief of Staff
edited January 31
Doesn’t everyone enjoy CR67 😁
Live And Let Die? Chapter 13 should be interesting…if she gets past chapter 5 that is 😳
I hope to hear more from Miss Snowflake in the future. I can say with great certainty that there is a lot that deserves her attention in the works of Mr Fleming, not to mention later works about his fictional agent James Bond.
@chrisno1 A wise man ... no, all right, it was Higgins ... once told me not to explain everything because it makes me seem even more nerdy than I am, but here goes: she's called Miss Snowflake because she's a pastiche of a lady called Mary Whitehouse but you may be too young to remember her. She was, er, an experience. And I don't know how many will get that reference, either, but I won't explain it this time.
She has appeared here before, and may again, N24, but not any time soon.
@Barbel No, I remember Mrs Whitehouse and the Viewers & Listeners Association very well. Goodness knows what she would make of today's cultural highlights... I am not sure she would have identified as a snowflake at all - she was way too forthright for that kind of description. Hammerhead would be more like it.
Barbel’s reference was about The Mary Whitehouse Experience, a comedy series starring David Baddiel and Hugh Dennis. Very funny it was too. I think snowflake is an apt description of her, she objected to everything, even things that she freely admitted she hadn’t seen, just heard about second hand.
Yeah, well, sometimes nothin' can be a real cool hand.
Comments
Much appreciated, guys. But I see we're about to turn a page, and that means somebody somewhere is pacing back and forth ....
Today, 26th January 2025.
The Fiennes household. Ralph is pacing back and forth, never getting too far away from the telephone, while his concerned wife looks on worriedly.
Mrs Fiennes: Oh sit down, Ralph, why don’t you?
Ralph: Sit down? I can’t sit down!
Mrs Fiennes: Look, just relax and -
Ralph: Relax? I can’t relax!
Mrs Fiennes: Just sit down and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.
Ralph: A nice cup of tea? I can’t think of a nice cup of tea at a time like this!
Mrs Fiennes: A time like this? Oh, you mean the Oscar!
Ralph Fiennes ‘thrilled’ to receive Oscars nomination for pope drama Conclave
Ralph: (As if he doesn’t care.) Oh, that. I’ve been nominated before, you know.
Mrs Fiennes: Yes, my darling, but this is your fourth time. Surely you’re going to win an Oscar this time, just like Colin Fir -
Ralph: What???
Mrs Fiennes: Oh, er, nothing, I didn’t say anything. Are you thinking about this year’s King’s Birthday Honours List? Maybe you’ll get that knighthood?
Ralph: (Very unconvincingly.) Me? I don’t think about these things!
Mrs Fiennes: Of course you don’t. That’s why you mutter “Yes, Your Majesty” and “Thank you, Your Majesty” every night in your sleep.
Ralph: No I don’t!
Mrs Fiennes: Yes, my love, that’s right, of course you don’t. So what is it then?
Ralph: I still don’t know if I’m going to be M in the next James Bond film!
Mrs Fiennes: Oh Ralph, stop worrying. Nobody knows who’s going to be in the next James Bond film!
Ralph: Oh no? I know one...
Mrs Fiennes: And who would that be?
Ralph: Michael G. Wilson!
MGW as Bond’s father in a flashback? They may well continue the Bond family connection 😁
Excellent “pacer” 😂🤣👏
🤣🤣🤣 excellent punchline !
2025 . PST (The Norwegian Police Security Service) headquarters. The facility is hidden under a glacier by a fjord. A helpful sign by the highway points visitors to the entrance. Agent Randi Ness walks into the laboratories of Ø-branch.
(If the agent and Ø-branch don't ring a bell, you must've forgotten what you read in last year's Christmas Special: https://www.ajb007.co.uk/discussion/56828/the-ajb007-christmas-special-2024#latest)
Ø-Branch: - I'm glad you came by. I was just thinking of Randi Ness. Let me show you our latest gadgets. Here we have a new pair of skis for you. As you know, Ø-branch are world leaders in ski gadgets.
Randi: - Let me guess - missiles in the ski poles?
Ø-branch: - Missiles built into the skis poles? You're working with professionals here. That's completely ridiculous. Who would do such a thing when you can just use your service pistol?
Randi: - Obviously.
Ø-branch: - Instead the gadget helps you ski faster than ever.
Randi: - Jet skis?
Ø-branch: - No, you'd be on your back immediately! The rockets engines are in the ski poles. The engines start when you push this button on the grip.
Randi: -Interesting. I have to be careful not to push the button when I use the poles like walking sticks on flat ground. The force on my arms would be like enormous. Just imagine the strength of my hand grip just to hold on!
Ø-branch: - Your pole position is very important.
Randi: - I have been working on my pole technique for a long time.
Ø-branch: I'm glad to hear it! (they walk over to a table). Our next idea is something very different. We have experimented on how to administer chemicals into meals. Truth serums, sleep agents and so on. We found the dish that hides the taste chemicals the best ....
Randi: Smalehove? Yummy! I wonder if there are any problem with this solution. Right now I can't think of any.
Ø-branch: I can't think what the problem could be. We've tested it on several Norwegians and the tests went without a hitch. However many of the people testing smalahove with truth serum said some shocking things about the Norwegian cuisine. Bordering on treasonous statements if you ask me ....
Randi: Can I have a parachute in case I should ski off a cliff?
Ø-Branch: A parachute on your back just in case you miss all the snow and find yourself falling off a cliff? Now you're just being silly, Randi. That would never happen.
That's different, N24, though I see we have still to cure you of your obsession with smalehove. Still, that's from a person who eats haggis so what would I know?
Many thanks, @CoolHandBond and @chrisno1.
June 10th, 1961. Dover.
Bond narrowed his eyes against the sleet the wind was blowing directly against him. The unexpected cold spell hadn’t affected the number of tourists disembarking before him, making his job harder than he had anticipated. Still, he had memorised the photograph M had shown him earlier.
“You’d think we were a bunch of babysitters, 007”, M had growled through a cloud of pipe smoke. “Not our job to operate inside these borders, you’d think the Minister would know that.”
“Perhaps it’s because we’re only handling one leg of the journey, sir”, said Bond, examining the photograph he had been given. “The French would see him up to Dover, we take over from there, and make sure he gets on his flight to the States.”
M harumphed unhappily. “That’s exactly what you have to do, get him on the right plane. Like I said, babysitting. Fine way for my top man, er, one of my top men to be spending his time.”
Bond repressed a smile at M’s unguarded comment.
“I’ll see that he gets there, sir.”
And now it was two o’clock and James Bond was watching the passengers disembark from the cross-Channel ferry. It didn’t take long to spot the slight, dark-haired figure. Bond walked over, neither hurrying nor lagging. The man looked at him, unsmiling.
“Good afternoon. I’m here to see you to the airport.”
“Fine”.
He was carrying a military style duffel bag, not particularly heavy. Bond didn’t offer to carry it as they headed to the car park. He’d taken the Aston Martin from the pool. It was a car he was familiar with and liked. It had certain unique accessories which he didn’t think he’d be needing on this trip. He unlocked the door, and opened the boot.
“Nice car”, said the man, his first unprompted words since his arrival. He put his bag in the boot.
“It’s not mine, it belongs to the company”, said Bond.
“I see.”
The engine started smoothly and they headed off. There was no initial attempt at small talk, but after ten miles or so the man began speaking as if he had only been waiting a long time for someone to talk to.
“I’ll be going to the States, you know, Mr …”
“Bond. James Bond. Yes, they told me.”
“I’ve been away a few years. Took me a while before I wanted to come back.”
The car sped on. Bond resisted asking the obvious question, and after another few miles the answer came unbidden.
“I just thought I wasn’t making any difference where I was. Back in the States, I know that I can make a difference.”
“You want to make a difference?” asked Bond.
“I think everyone wants to make a difference. A difference to the world, not just to those around them.”
“I see.”
“Do you think you’ve ever made a difference, Mr Bond?” He turned in his seat to look at the driver.
“I wouldn’t know about that”, said Bond. “I rely on my higher-ups making those kind of decisions then I carry out their orders.”
“A soldier. No thought, just action.”
“If you like to put it that way.”
They sat in silence as the car hurried on the last few miles. Bond followed the signs to the airport, thinking as he always did that the building work here never seemed to finish. They parked and walked over to the terminal. A few moments with paperwork then it was time for Bond to go. There was no handshake. The man looked calmly into Bond’s eyes, or was it calmness? Bond thought he could see a kind of deadness there, an insulation from feelings and other people.
“I’ll say goodbye, Mr Bond.”
“Yes”, said Bond. “Goodbye Mr Oswald.”
Bond turned and walked back to his car. He wondered if he’d ever hear about the man again. Probably not, he decided. It was a big world; not everyone could make a difference.
CHB and Sir M- Truth isn't my Department....
Just when I think that you couldn’t possibly do any better than the already superb writing that you put into this thread, Barbel, you go and post an absolutely stunning piece of fiction worthy of the highest praise. I feel lucky to have read this. 👏👏👏
That's very kind of you, CHB, I'm very grateful to hear you say that.
1962. Pinewood Studios. Producers Cubby Broccoli and Harry Saltzman are proudly showing Ian Fleming around the sets of “Dr No” while Production Designer Ken Adam follows them.
Broccoli: …and here, this is the cell Dr No puts Bond in after their dinner together.
Fleming: Very good, that’s excellent. (Ken Adam beams happily.) It’s just like I had imagined it.
Saltzman: And this is inside the tunnels Bond has to crawl through. That part there (He indicates a section of differently-coloured metal.) is where we pretend it’s roasting hot when Bond crawls over it.
Fleming: Pretend?
Broccoli: Of course we pretend, we don’t really want to cook our leading actor. (He was to revise this opinion in years to come.)
Fleming: And then we get to the end of the tunnel and Bond shoots out into the air from halfway up a cliff, to land in a fenced-off area containing a giant squid, which he –
Saltzman: Er, Ian?
Fleming: Yes?
Broccoli: There’s no giant squid.
Fleming: No giant squid? And why not? Could your designer here not come up with something?
Adam: I’m sure I could, but the money just wasn’t there, you see, Mr Fleming.
Saltzman: We’re on a very tight budget, Ian. Those paintings in M’s office were only cardboard, for example.
We had to borrow someone’s house to stand in for Strangways’ house at the start of the film, and those fish you can see in Dr No’s dining room caused us no end of trouble.
Fleming: But the readers will be looking forward to seeing James Bond fight with a giant squid!
Broccoli: Can’t be done, I’m afraid. But come over here and let’s look at Miss Taro’s bungalow. That’s where Bond shoots Professor Dent.
Fleming: Miss Taro’s bungalow? Professor Dent?
Saltzman: Perhaps you’d prefer to see the casino set?
Fleming: Casino?
Broccoli: Yes, where Bond meets Sylvia Trench.
Fleming: Sylvia Trench? Professor Dent? Did any of you read my novel at all?
(He stomps off furiously. There is a pause.)
Saltzman: Well, that went better than I thought.
Broccoli: Yes, much better than expected. Good thing we didn’t tell him we’ve put Felix Leiter in this story, too.
Fleming: (From off.) I heard that!
Two more crackers…the writing in the first one is particularly good 🍸
I don't know where you found this intel, Barbel. All I can say is that you should check under your car every time you use it, never drink from unsealed bottles and avoid windows in high buildings. Never drink anything that glows in the dark. Good luck! 👍️ 😁
Thank you both very much, and N24 I'll keep that in mind.
And strangely pointy umbrellas! Since you live in Scotland I think this is the biggest worry. 🌧️
But of course!
1985, San Francisco.
Zorin: Now, you’re sure about this, MayDay?
MayDay: Yes, Max, I’m sure. James Bond has survived us knocking him out and throwing him in the back of a Rolls-Royce into a deep pool of water. Our men have identified him at Stacey Sutton’s mansion, and we know that CIA agent Chuck Lee is meeting them there tonight.
Zorin: I see, I see…
MayDay: So this is the perfect opportunity!
Zorin: It certainly is.
MayDay: We can kill them -
Zorin: You can hide in the back of Chuck Lee’s car and kill him when he gets back into it, then drive away making Bond and Sutton think that he’s still alive and everything is all right.
MayDay: But -
Zorin: You can lean over the seat and strangle him, just like you did that fake chauffeur Tibbett.
MayDay: But Max, I -
Zorin: Then take his car somewhere and dump him, maybe in a river.
MayDay: But listen Max, we could have someone hide in the back of Bond’s car and kill him and Sutton instead of Lee.
Zorin: But MayDay -
MayDay: Better still, have me in one and Scarbine in the other and kill them all. Problem solved.
Zorin: MayDay, just you leave the thinking to me and I’ll leave the killing to you.
MayDay: But –
Zorin: Enough!
😁😁😁
That’s Nazi-engineering for you 😳🤣
Thanks as always, gents. Today's will be along once I have an idea what it is.
“ …and this has been going on since when, madam?”
The constable’s voice was polite, the hints of boredom well concealed. He had a dozen other things he wanted to be doing, and two dozen other things he ought to have been doing, but he was on community duty this week and had pulled the short straw of answering this particular call.
“Well, I really don’t know, what do you think Geoffrey?”
The husband jumped as if suddenly awakened. “Oh, can’t say, really, maybe five years or so?”
His wife glared scornfully, “It’s much more than five years! Really, Geoffrey, can’t you take note of anything?”
The young constable hastily interceded, not wishing to add a domestic dispute to his woes. He said “Well, perhaps you might tell me the first time you were disturbed?”
“That would be the first time he brought one of those … those women home.”
“What was the problem?”
“Well, I don’t like to say, but … the bed. Those noises from the bed!”
The constable was alarmed and his hand sidled to his radio. “He was attacking her? Assaulting her?”
The woman turned very red.
“Well… no, at least I don’t think so. The bed was making these, these trampoline noises. It was different every time. Sometimes long and slow, sometimes very fast and frenzied.”
It was the constable’s turn to redden. “Well, madam, there isn’t any crime there that I can see.”
“It keeps us awake at night! Doesn’t it, Geoffrey?”
The husband looked up from his daydream. “Oh, yes, dear, anything you say.”
“It was different every time, you see.”
“And did you hear anybody talking when this was going on?” asked the constable.
“Well, yes, but that was always the woman saying the same thing. That didn’t change.”
“And what did she say?”
“She said… Oh, James…”
“Oh, James?” asked the constable, puzzled.
The woman said, “Yes, that’s right. Oh, James.”
“Well”, said the constable, “that doesn’t seem too bad to me.”
“Listen, lad”, said the husband, “you try listening to that three times a night for the last sixty years and then tell me it doesn’t seem too bad!”
Fabulous 🤣🤣
I wonder how many mattresses Bond went through?
Good stuff 😂🤣
🤣
Thanks, guys.
Dear Mr Fleming
I write to express my severe disappointment in the standards of your work. Only recently I have been reading “Casino Royale”, which I understand to be the first in the famed series of adventures of your character James Bond.
After a sedate start I was shocked to find the use of the word “breasts” on p68, the word “nipples” on p188, the word “protuberances” used in a most definitely sexual context on p39, and the word “buttocks” on p139. And p187.
Perhaps most disturbing was the use of the word “bitch” as almost the very last word of the book itself. There are further disturbing uses of words which I would like to bring to your attention, but my handkerchief supply is running low.
I trust that further instalments in your series will be more restrained in their language.
Yours indignantly
Miss A. Snowflake
Dear Miss Snowflake
Mr Fleming’s publishers have passed your letter on to us, as the screenwriters of the most recent version of the novel in question. Sadly, we are obliged to inform you that Mr Fleming passed away just over sixty years ago, the novel itself having been written over seventy years ago.
These dates are very important in our reply. The book was written in a different time, with different standards of language being understood by the general public as well as popular writers such as Mr Fleming who is far from being alone in his use of the terms you have indicated and indeed many other words.
We suggest that perhaps you might enjoy the 1967 film version of this story.
We hope you will understand and will enjoy the next novel in Mr Fleming’s series. It is called “Live And Let Die”.
Yours sincerely
N. Purvis
R. Wade
Doesn’t everyone enjoy CR67 😁
Live And Let Die? Chapter 13 should be interesting…if she gets past chapter 5 that is 😳
Great stuff @Barbel 🤣
At the risk of sounding woke myself.... why is it Miss Snowflake?
I hope to hear more from Miss Snowflake in the future. I can say with great certainty that there is a lot that deserves her attention in the works of Mr Fleming, not to mention later works about his fictional agent James Bond.
Didn’t we have a real Miss Snowflake on here a few years ago?
Terrific, as usual 😂🤣
Thank you all, guys.
@chrisno1 A wise man ... no, all right, it was Higgins ... once told me not to explain everything because it makes me seem even more nerdy than I am, but here goes: she's called Miss Snowflake because she's a pastiche of a lady called Mary Whitehouse but you may be too young to remember her. She was, er, an experience. And I don't know how many will get that reference, either, but I won't explain it this time.
She has appeared here before, and may again, N24, but not any time soon.
@Barbel No, I remember Mrs Whitehouse and the Viewers & Listeners Association very well. Goodness knows what she would make of today's cultural highlights... I am not sure she would have identified as a snowflake at all - she was way too forthright for that kind of description. Hammerhead would be more like it.
Barbel’s reference was about The Mary Whitehouse Experience, a comedy series starring David Baddiel and Hugh Dennis. Very funny it was too. I think snowflake is an apt description of her, she objected to everything, even things that she freely admitted she hadn’t seen, just heard about second hand.