“Pay attention Bond,” intones Q. “Take a look at this cufflink that turns into a cruise missile.” “Take me James, I’m yours,” pants Pussy Galore. “Sorry, no time,” apologises our ex-hero (MW April 24). “I’m on the phone to my BMW dealer choosing arm rests and ergonomic baby seats.”
I knew that post-Cubby Broccoli, Bond was being “modernised” but what glamour is there in trading the Aston Martin and the two-seater drophead for a “sensible” saloon?
Presumably the “babe” scenes will now be exchanged for Bond wrestling with his tax return, car chases replaced by nappy changing (sponsored by Pampers) and the villainous Blofeld’s violent destruction deleted in favour of a particularly heated discussion between Bond and his hairdresser about his bald patch.
I had no idea the late Nineties were going to be this sad.
Michael Rines Communications