Thanks to a friend *in the industry* I’m able to bring you a sneak peak at the latest James Bond film.

Below is a pivotal scene from the new film and it’s followed by the opening credits.

Enjoy.

The Man With The Golden Chocolates

Despite the time Bond had spent in the casinos on the French Riviera and in Las Vegas, nothing had prepared him for the Embassy Bingo Hall. The faded décor spoke of a glorious past but those days are long gone. Eroded just as now the scent of Impulse fused with stale sweat and the glare of orange skin erodes the soul of the bingo player.

Pausing briefly inside the door, Bond lit his 60th cigarette of the day and made his way across the unnervingly sticky carpet to the bar.

“Alright, love?” The bar maid asked Bond as he approached.
“Vodka Martini. Shaken not stirred”. Bond asked barely acknowledging the leopard skin clad temptress behind the bar.
“You what, duck? We only do pints and alchopops.”
“Oh.” Bond surveyed the glass fronted chiller behind the bar. “WKD. Blue. No straw.”

As the overpowering sweetness of Bond’s drink hit the back of his throat his mind suddenly became focused again on his job.

“I want to see the Ambassador.” He snapped at the bar maid.
“What?”
“I want to see Ambassador. The man in charge.” His voice now had a steely edge.
“Oh! You mean Terry, the Manager”.

Terry Phillips was an intriguing man. He was near bald. He stood no more than 5 foot 4 tall and was nearly as wide. He wore dark shoes, dark slacks, a dark jacket with a dark pin stripe suite. Dressed by River Island, Bond had expected no less.

If Phillips was surprised to see Bond still alive and back in his bingo hall, his face didn’t show it. He gestured for bond to following him, past the caller’s table, past the 8 foot alabaster statue of cupid, past the broken cigarette machine to his office.

As they stepped through the door, Bond knew the time was now or never. He felt the sinews in his body tighten, the hair on his neck stood to attention and his collar tighten. He lunged forward grabbing Phillips by the arm, twisting and locking it so tight that if Phillips struggled his arm would break by its own volition.

“What the chuffing ‘ell are you doing?” Phillips’ cool broke for the first time.
“You’re a spy, Phillips and you’ve got something I want”. Bond’s voice remained calm and authoritative yet urgent.
“Spy? What? Of course I’m not a spy.”
“How do you explain this then?”

Bond released his hold and ripped the sleeve on Phillips’ jacket revealing an inverted “M” tattooed on his left forearm.

“You’ve been marked by SMERSH. See ’shpion’”.
“No! You’re looking at it upside down!” Phillips rolled his sleeve further up his arm. “Its says ‘MUM’, you bleeding idiot!”.

Bond inspected the tattoo: “MUM”. ‘Damn it’ he though.

“Now maybe we can stop this faffing around and you can tell me what you want”. Phillips straightened his jacket and some of the dignity one expects of a Bingo Hall Manager returned.

“You’ve got the Golden Chocolates. I want them.” With egg tattoo on his face Bond was in no mood to mince his words.
“Well, why didn’t you say so!” A smile quickly spread the width of Phillips chubby little spud head.

He reached to the top draw of his desk, slid it open and pull out its content.

He threw down a tray of 24 chocolates. Each wrapped in sumptuous gold foil and sat arrogantly in individual brown paper cups.

“There you are, laddy. The Ferreror Rocher. I keep ‘em back ‘ere for special, like.”

Bonds lips were dry with expectation. His pulse quickened again but he retained his composure as he picked the tray of the table.

“Abassador,” He said slyly to Phillips “with these Rocher, you’re really spoiling us!”.
“Please, call me Terry”.

Bond popped one of the hazelnut encrusted chocolate globes into his mouth and bit down slowly.

“Eccellente!”