Column: Is James Bond the answer to our Brexit problems?
In days gone by, one of the Christmas highlights was the latest blockbuster on the telly. Nowadays we have already seen them so it's no big deal, but this year is really exciting... we could actually be extras in a blockbuster.
The scene is set with the country in peril, but how could it play out…?
The plot seems simple. From a den of corruption, megalomaniacs spout political dogma to control the masses assisted by their media outlet, the Biased Brussels Confederacy. But with their Project Fear indoctrination programme failing, the baddies up the ante with a dastardly plan.
After a successful trial run with giant fat balls in London’s sewers, they hatch a sinister plot to jack up one end of the Channel tunnel and we watch in horror as a mountain of butter (now putrid) is pumped in and gradually inches its way towards good old Blighty.
But that’s just a ploy, the real plan involves a fleet of tankers secreted around the UK carrying cheap plonk from their wine lake, set to be pumped into our water supply when the time is right. With a drunken population, the UK faces economic ruin.
Our hero enters. The one person who can come to the rescue. His name is Bond, James Bond. It goes without saying he is an insurance nightmare with his disregard for the Highway Code, propensity to damage hotel rooms and of course the likely discrimination and compensation claims. Though on the plus side he has done wonders for age discrimination (when Roger Moore outstayed his welcome) and he did once have three nipples.
So with my insurance bit out of the way, the opening skirmish involves boats masquerading as trawlers and Bond fights off the baddies with a cheeky riposte about the size of their pollocks.
Then it’s the car chase round London with Bond showing the police how to deal with baddies on motorbikes with his explosive gadgets. But oh no, it’s the bit where Bond gets it wrong. They were the wrong sort of baddies, just our own thieves going about their business on the streets of London.
But he soon bounces back as the master tactician using the Women’s Institute to hoodwink the BBC to lobby for knitting as a registered sport in time for the next sports personality of the year awards. They take the bait and give it wall-to-wall coverage.
And of course we have the bit-part players. The bespectacled posh English MP who keeps going on about his motions, probably because he always has a plum in his mouth, and the long-haired buffoon who must have had an electric shock from an earlier Bond film and, to confuse matters, also plays a President, also as a buffoon.
As we approach the end game Bond gets a lucky break. He encounters one of the baddie leaders, drunk as a skunk, who mocks Bond saying “you will all soon be like me”. Bond immediately twigs the plot, but is it too late?
The authorities are desperately trying to find a big enough backstop as the butter advances, unaware the wine tankers are in position and the clock is ticking. With some in the UK Parliament inexplicably undermining Bond’s efforts, he decides to go rogue. It’s time for Bond as the smooth diplomat who is custom to getting unions, particularly with the ladies.
He bypasses the 26 baddie sidekicks and goes to the top. He’s not worried about last minute, bad or no deals... Bond always gets a good deal and with an ace up his sleeve he gets the job done. The screen fades for a few seconds before we see a couple drive away in an Audi.