I Expect You To Diet, Mr. Bond: For Your Eyes Only
Posted on May 11th, 2011
Moneypenny’s been kind enough to allow me to keep this document in that strange pop-up vanity of hers (I’m fairly certain that she thinks I’m not aware of it, however, where is a gentleman to turn when he’s in need of fresh pancake, if not his secretary’s makeup drawer? I ask you). M has demanded that I keep a food diary for Staff Health Initiative Two. Bother. I tried to interest him in my black book instead, but, he muttered something about sciatica and turned to his bank of multi-colored phones for comfort.
Operation: For Your Eyes Only
Day 1: You know, there was that business with the chap in the helicopter, and that towerhole bit, and…I can’t recall actually eating anything today. Was there something with the fat parson? No, no…I just brought roses to my dear dead wife’s grave..what’s her face…anyway. Let’s just say I had a martini, and call it ‘Monday’.
Day 2: Have been packed off to Greece. Worried about fitting into swim trunks. Got plenty of good cardio at that pilot’s villa, but, does it cancel out the twelve olives that I ate as we rocketed down that hillside? I don’t know! All I can think about is how svelte he looked lying facedown in the pool with that arrow in his back, and how I’d look like a v. bloated seal carcass.
Day 3: Every time, I tell myself ‘Bond, don’t have coffee with cream in it in the identigraph room, you’ll get fat’ and every time, I drink it anyway. Am at least heading off to ski location—can hide shame in bulky sweaters, snowsuit.
Day 4: Am staying in hideously draped hotel room with tacky plywood fixtures. Have resolved to keep snowsuit on at all times to hide my middle bulk, no matter what—even if I find a nubile nymphomaniac Olympic hopeful ice skater naked in my bed. What are the odds of that happening, anyway? Have not decided if Glühwein calories count or not yet. Going with: No. How do people without henchmen get cardio? Must ask MP.
Day 5: Am total cow! Allowed drinks with Kristatos at dinner to somehow weaken resolve to never take snowsuit off again, and, have slept with fake countess (a nice Liverpool girl, as it turns out). More concerned about the five glasses of Bollinger consumed, and, who knows how many oysters. Snuck out to find scale in fake countess’ bathroom in the AM, but, was too terrified to actually look at the number. Now she wants to go for a walk on the beach—will put most of tux back on to cover fatness. If only there were some way I could never see her again, or, guarantee that she’d never remember what I look like naked….
Day 6: Convenient death of fake countess! God bless that dune buggy! Turns out Kristatos is actually nefarious bloke, am now allied with chap named Columbo who won’t stop espousing the benefits of pistachio nuts. Nattering on about ‘omega 3s’ this and ‘heart healthy’ that, and all ‘Bob says these are for BestLife’ etc. Nuts are fat, Columbo. I don’t care how luxuriously full your head of hair is.
Day 7: Cardio, cardio, cardio. I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again—henchmen are the best personal trainers. Am successfully resisting temptaion to eat pistachios, despite Columbo’s sneaking them into my pockets at every turn—can only think about how fat I’m going to look scaling that giant rock to get into the monastery at the top. Ugh. Allowed myself one sip of vodka from secret flask, and then, did twenty punishment push-ups while thinking about that ridiculously fit East German biathalon chappie. For motivational purposes only, I assure you.
Day 8: Evil vanquished, I crushed that giant calculator that M liked to pretend was so important, and have miraculously avoided eating all pistachios offered by Columbo, but, horror! Melena wants to go for a nude midnight swim! Have successfully persuaded her that keeping bathrobes on whilst having sex is somehow more romantic, but, see no way out of this new predicament. Am trying to remain calm, and see it as opportunity for additional exercise. Which I need—am convinced that I am getting ‘champagne roll’ around midsection. When I return to London, must ask MP to cancel all appointments for at least 4 days for intensive henchmen workout–must ensure that next mission takes place largely in snow-bound locales ONLY.