I have a problem. A serious problem.
My love of romance is getting seriously out of hand.
Feeling the need to break away from the deliciousness of the regency romance novel, I recently started on the first of the James Bond books, Casino Royale, on recommendation by someone who’s judgement has so-far been quite good.
The first few chapters had me hopeful that I would enjoy something that doesn’t have heaving bosoms and tightening breaches adorning the pages.
Alas, half way in, all I can think about is when James is going to shag the bond girl and inevitably break her heart. Never mind the intrigue and action, just give me some stolen kisses and some thorough shagging.
This is a problem I have been dealing with all my life. During the 1990s, I was glued to The X-Files, not because of the supernatural themes or conspiracy theories (did we ever find out what happened to Mulder’s sister?), but to see when/how/if Mulder and Scully would declare their undying love for each other. I only like going to movies that I know will have the two leads live happily ever after.
Whilst some may find this slightly pathetic, I have decided that I don’t really care. I shall continue to live enjoying life's little happy endings.
Last comment from this reader but wanted to share an interesting fact. Ian Fleming based one of his bond girls, vespa Lynd, on a real life polish spy who worked for the special ops unit, wikipedia has more. But just to show not all bond girls are reeled in, shagged n dumped! Authors are often misunderstood by their readers xx
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