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The Spy Who Bloody Well Will Love Me

05/11/2015 14:38 GMT | Updated 04/11/2016 09:12 GMT

So the new Bond film is out. Monica Bellucci plays a Bond Girl in SPECTRE, aged 50. This is fantastic because I am 40 and thought I'd missed my chance. Clearly the opportunity is still there for me. You know what this means? It means that all those years were not wasted, all those years of taking every opportunity to drape myself in a doorway and say, with a Russian accent, 'Commander Bond [sultry pause] I've been expektink you'.

Roger Moore is 'my' Bond. The first one I remember. I thought he was absolutely gorgeous. I was six. And the film was For Your Eyes Only, so it's a wonder I stuck with the franchise because that film was utter eye-shite. Part of the plot involves Bond not seeking necessary information using subterfuge or via the torture of bad guys, but being told it by a parrot. Yep, bird beat Bond. It's a pisspoor plot point.

If I had to choose any pre-existing Bond girl to be, I'd be Jill Masterson, played by Shirley Eaton in Goldfinger, because let's face it, all over gold paint hides a multitude of sins. Did she have cellulite? How could we possibly know? Not only that, but pulling off the right kind of sensual expression for the poster pic must be a nightmare. Not for Shirley Eaton who has the rare distinction of being the only Bond girl WHO WAS DEAD ON THE POSTER. Which must have really taken the pressure off.

I'd also quite like to be May Day from A View to a Kill (another terrible Bond film, don't watch it, Google image it and even if only the poster comes up, you've now seen all the good bits). Played by Grace Jones, May Day looks like she could take a charging rhino down with her thighs and I think that's a skill that every woman secretly wants. In addition, she gets to shag Roger Moore AND Christopher Walken, although I'm pretty sure they were both terrified at the time.

It seems only fair to at this point mention Famke Janssen's Xenia Onatopp, who was also pretty handy with her pins, giving men a death to die for. Her legs were probably longer than the whole of me. At just under five foot three, I've never been leggy. People say of some women, 'she has legs up to her armpits'. My legs just about reach my arse. I remember as a teenager complaining to my father that my legs were too short and he replied, 'What's the matter, they reach they reach the floor, don't they?' He was never particularly helpful.

I was discussing Bond films with my friend the other day. This happened:

HER: It's really easy thinking up Bond film titles. You just use something snappy and death related.

ME: Like what?

HER: Like 'Dressed to Kill'.

ME: And what's the plot of that, Bond makes a fatal salad?

If you're thinking that there's a possibility that I'm a bit of a Bond bore, you don't know half of it, in that I have kept the other half of it very well hidden. The truth is this: whenever I'm supposed to be doing something constructive or meaningful, I in fact do my Bond Girl Training. Here is a list of the things I've practiced:

1. My own death.

2. The gun barrel sequence (in case Bond decides to sit this one out).

3. Waterskiing (in living room with a resistance band looped round an armchair. I don't really like getting wet).

4. Making an entrance (in full evening wear at 11am, with Homes Under the Hammer on mute).

5. Pressing buttons in my car of which I have no clue as to their function (found the fog lights, so that's good).

6. Knife throwing (in my kitchen, I'm really regretting buying those glass cupboard doors I used to have).

7. Making a bed (someone has to, he always fucks off).

8. Talking into my sleeve to a person who isn't there.

This is possibly why I have achieved a staggering lack of success in life, but I'm not giving it up, my time will come. In fact, fuck it, I think I'll write a Bond script myself. The title could be Time To Kill, the perfect platform for Omega watch product placement rife in recent Bond films (BAD GUY: What's the time? [shot of Omega watch] BOND: It's time to kill.) I'll play Busty Goodpiece, for which I'll need a supportive bra and some gin. And this is the script I'll actually send off instead of leaving it to languish in my desk drawer. Because I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure I'll only live once.