1. How do you introduce yourself, Mr…?
a) With my second name, then my first name, then my second name again
b) “Call me Jim”
c) With a Namaste bow: I’m still a bit averse to physical contact.
2. What are you wearing?
a) Bespoke Brioni dinner suit. Tight across the shoulders and roomy at the knees, if you catch my drift. Small pair of bathing trunks underneath.
b) Safari suit. I’m convinced they’re coming back.
c) Track suit
3. How do you make an entrance?
a) Parcour style chase through Rio Carnival/Pamplona bull run/Paris-Dakar rally, followed by ANOTHER chase driving a bullet-riddled Aston Martin DB5 through old Dubrovnik/along the New York High Line/down the Black Hole ski run in Smuggler’s Notch, Vermont. Then a gun/knife/fist fight before you club your opponent to death with a toilet bowl only to stroll insouciantly through your boss’s door seconds later.
b) With jazz hands and shouting “hello laydeez!”
c) Enter the Zoom waiting room.
4. What’s your relationship with your boss like?
a) Terse, gruff respect masking unresolved “mummy issues” with his predecessor.
b) We’re great mates and play golf together.
5. And who is your greatest professional foe?
a) Well, he used to be a bald man with a cat, but now he’s sort of Austrian. And he might be in league with a facially disfigured Freddie Mercury lookalike but I don’t know yet.
b) The bloody traffic Nazis with their ultra low emission zones, low traffic networks, and pay-by-app parking charges.
c) That bloke from accounts, Scaramanga. I’m joking. His name’s Phil.
6. Preferred mode of transport?
a) The aforementioned Aston Martin DB5, but preferably without the bullet holes. Though I’ll keep the machine guns and all the other cool stuff.
b) I’d love something fancier – even a Tesla – but it’s a second hand Prius these days.
7. You walk into a bar. What do you order?
a) “Dry Martini. Wait! Three measures of Gordon’s gin, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shake until it’s ice cold then add a thin slice of lemon peel.” (I might also order a Heineken chaser if there’s a product placement deal involved).
b) Dom Perignon ’53, but ONLY if it is below the temperature of 38 degrees Fahrenheit.
8. Oh look, there’s a beautiful girl next to you, less than half your age and wearing a designer dress that covers less than a third of her body. Do you?
a) Indulge in some light negging and heavy sarcasm, hinting at the ice that surrounds your cold, cold heart, stab the man behind her with the barman’s pencil, kick the man behind you in the throat, then have sex with her. In a shower. Probably on a yacht.
b) Ask if her mum knows she’s out and say “that’s a nice frock you’re almost wearing”.
c) Offer her your jacket and the Uber fare home.
9. What’s her name?
a) Something classy like Madeleine, Paloma, Camille or, um, Vesper.
b) Something smutty like Lou Smoralls, Pantzer Downe or Legs Akimbo.
c) Something normal like Eve.
10. What do you do within a week of meeting this girl?
a) Have sex with someone else.
b) Try and match with her on Hinge.
c) Jokily text her an aubergine emoji because she told you she was a vegetarian.
11. How long do you expect the relationship to last?
a) Until I die. Or she does. Life expectancy isn’t great in the Double-O department. The only thing I’ve put into my personal pension is a bullet. No, I don’t know what that means either.
b) Until she tries to move her toothbrush into my flat. My Scottish housekeeper May wouldn’t stand for it and I fear cohabiting with a woman might disrupt my faddish bachelor ways.
c) Possibly years. But as friends. She doesn’t like me in “that” way, apparently.
12. Who would play you in a film of your life?
a) Daniel Craig. No, wait. Sean Connery.
b) Pierce Brosnan or Timothy Dalton would be nice, but someone like Roger Moore, George Lazenby or David Niven is probably closer to the mark.
c) Apparently I’m the spitting image of some bloke called Barry Nelson, and my voice sounds like Bob Holness, the former Blockbusters host. But both of them are dead.
13. What’s the most foolish thing anyone’s done, given what they know about you?
a) Left me unarmed and alone or sparsely guarded in a room, or talked to me about their plans for an excessive length of time.
b) My neighbour Quentin lent me his lawnmower once so I could mow a cricket pitch. I got into a dispute with another man mowing, which ended in us racing across the pitch, him bashing his mower into mine, and throwing quit large pebbles at mine, and hitting it with an iron bar, until I was able to force his mower off a cliff, where it burst into flames. Quentin – who I call Q – looked pretty annoyed when I handed his totally bashed-up mower back to him, even though I did it with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. Also, I shagged his wife.
c) Asked me to put up a shelf.
14. Not wishing to be morbid, how do you think you will eventually meet your end?
a) Killed by a tube train deliberately rerouted through a wall towards me by a madman with a grudge, in a plan involving large parts of London’s infrastructure and the deaths of many more people, apparently conceived months beforehand, even though there’s no way he could know I’d end up standing on the spot he was aiming at. Or cirrhosis of the liver.
b) I’ve thought a lot about this and there are various likely possibilities. Bisected at the crotch by a giant laser. Torn apart by alligators after I used five of them as stepping stones. Falling into a shark pool. Beaten to death by a giant henchman who is much stronger than me. Stabbed in a fencing duel. Tortured to death in a North Korean prison. Shot on my wedding day. Shot by the Mujaheddin. Shot by a girl sniper who is also a cellist. Garroted on a train from Istanbul. Strangled between the thighs of a Russian girl. Blown up on a Space Shuttle. Any number of car crashes… But I reckon it’ll be cirrhosis of the liver, or a sexually transmitted disease.
c) Statistically, I suppose it’ll probably be heart disease, cancer or a stroke.
15. How do you see yourself and your position in British society?
a) I’m a blunt instrument, a paid assassin for the state – ultimately an expendable asset.
b) A patriot convinced of the important role Britain can play in the world despite all evidence to the contrary.
c) I tend to think of myself more as a European or even a citizen of the world, actually, and I think nationalism and nativism are the cause of many of the problems we face today.
16. What would your motto be?
a) No Time to Die.
b) The World is Not Enough.
c) Never Say Never Again.
Mostly ‘a’ – Ah, Mr Bond, I’ve been expecting you. You are as full of rage, testosterone and ingrained sexism as 007 himself. Congratulations, I think.
Mostly ‘b’ – your Walther PPK is pointed in the right direction but you’re a little off target, lacking in the suavity, ruthlessness and masculinity that characterises the modern Commander Bond.
Mostly ‘c’ – let’s face it, like 99.9% of us you’re not cut out to be Bond. But that probably makes you a much nicer person to have a Martini with.
No Time To Die is in cinemas from September 30