When I was eight, my father took me, my younger sister and his parents to the beach at Great Yarmouth. The sand was wet enough to build a boat to climb inside. The sea was dirty. There was ice cream.
What I remember the most though, was when we all went to the cinema in the late afternoon. The choices were Disney's The Aristocats, or James Bond The Living Daylights. My grandmother bought her and my sister tickets for The Aristocats and 'the boys' were going to watch James Bond. I wanted to watch The Aristocats really badly. I wasn't interested in James Bond. Even at eight, some smug man blowing stuff up and slapping women on the backside held absolutely none of my interest at all. Jazz musician felines on the other hand, that sounded to me like the best idea since The Black Cauldron.
I wasn't allowed to watch the Disney and had to sit through James Bond. Stuff blew up. People with hammy accents fell out of planes. Women got kissed. Eyebrows got cocked for the delivery of one liners and I sat there the whole time, imagining what the cats were getting up to on the other screen.
I can't stand James Bond. James Bond is a cardboard man who talks wood and shoots a little gun. The ingrained devotion to the character and monotony of the films is making my fingers bored just typing this.
That's cool, Stevey, you don't have to like him. He's not for everyone. You don't drink coffee either, all good. Thanks man, appreciate that. Can you do me a favour though, and ask them to stop making more James Bond films and use the money for something more interesting please? Or maybe make another James Bond where he gets experimented on and becomes half cat. Or has to fight forty five cats in a lift. Or maybe he just has a cat. That's it. The new James Bond is the story of a battered old man and his cat, as they work on their garden to make it hedgehog safe for bonfire night. There can be a Russian dog neighbour who is the baddy. And an old lady who comes to visit him and makes demeaning comments about his saggy features while he makes them tea. And at one point the methane build up in the compost could cause a small explosion that they all have to dive away from into the conservatory in slow motion.
What about the gadgets though? Fine. He's got one of those garden tools to ventilate the lawn with the detachable heads for different terrain. And there's a garden table that flips over to reveal a crossword. And the cat coughs up fur balls that are actually tracking devices that she spits onto pigeons so they know where the pigeons are for when they've got old bread that needs getting rid of.
We need a title. Course we do. Decking is Forever? Live and Lay Patio? Not sure. Hold on, I've got it.
James Bond: The Man with the Wooden Soul.
Perfect. Shooting starts next week, if it doesn't rain.