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| Bond was hard at work as usual. He'd worked his way through all the different kinds of gin and vermouth, in every possible kind of combination, with and without lemon zest (it was always better to leave it in), and was now feeling restless. The bartender had started to get really quite short with him. Bloody pleb. Bond really, really, really fancied a game of poker. |
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| Luckily Bond's arch-enemy, Le Chiffre, was likewise hard at work in the casino, plotting evil plans. |
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| Bond challenged Le Chiffre to a game of poker, at enormous stakes. His girl of the moment stood by, flashing her cleavage from behind a plunging neckline and swallowing expensive champagne. I'd better win, thought Bond grimly to himself, or I'll be here all night doing the washing up. Those bloody girls always have to go for the expensive champagne! They probably don't even have mixer taps in this bloody place, and I'll scald my hands again. Le Chiffre smirked evilly, as was his habit. |
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| It was a sweaty game. Bond suffered a heart attack, but miraculously survived. Le Chiffre was yanking his chain, but at the last moment Bond pulled a straight flush and won the game. The girl pouted victoriously, adjusted her cleavage and requested another glass of champagne, only to rush to the ladies' moments later, clutching the toilet bowl and cursing that sweet, sweet champagne. |
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| For unexplained reasons a wild chase ensued, across some conveniently placed building cranes. The action was tense, and Bond found himself perspiring again. |
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| Finally, after a hard day's graft, Bond could get back on the commuter train with his girl and go home. The toilets on the train were out of action as usual. Bond sighed. "Give us a hand, love." |
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