Double-oh-blech: Gill and I trek out to see the much-talked-about Bond prequel, Casino Royale. It’s not so much the blond that I object to, but the portrayal of 007 as a stone cold sociopath, totally devoid of humor, charm, or wit. With an Aussie accent. And a shocking dearth of gadgets. I won’t be spoiling anything to tell you that the best line of the movie was when he ordered a martini and the bartender asked, “Shaken or stirred?”
“I don’t bloody care,” (or words to that effect) responded a confused Bond.
Paging Miss Nadine: Her Royal Dumpling emerges from under the covers long enough to snag some chocolate pudding. Last night’s pasta had her licking her chops for a while, too. Some might suggest that there is a correlation between my cat’s diet and her rotund shape, but I beg to differ. She is merely full-figured, and proud of it. Now, what happened to the last piece of parmesan?