“But, I get a kick out of youuu…” Guy sang as he approached the table he had by now fondly nicknamed the Abdominal Drinks Table. Anthony had done quite well, and Guy was truly having fun. More specifically, he was drunk. But cheerfully drunk, which was a novelty in recent times.

The ADT in sight, Guy pondered what to have as he hummed the next

Guy didn't like doubts. But this particular doubt he decided he could live with. Because he liked the prospect of having to talk to Michael even less. Couldn't things just stay the way they were? Couldn't the bloody island just stop doing these annoying things (oh yes, blaming the island again ( Read more... )

Guy wasn’t moping. Decidedly not. And to make sure no art critic residing with him would insinuate otherwise with dry and vaguely irritated demeanour, Guy had left the cave ( Read more... )

Dear little water. Such was the translation of vodka he had once been told. Something like that anyway. He wasn’t paying too close attention at the time. He had drunk a bit too much of that dear little water ( Read more... )

Guy sighed and pinched his nose. Back to fucking square one. Square nil, more precisely. James Bond; fact and fiction, Sean Connery; the first Bond, Roger Moore; My life as Bond, Ian Fleming's James Bond: Annotations and Chronologies for Ian Fleming's Bond Stories Somewhere, someone was laughing, Guy just knew it. But it wasn’t him, oh, most ( Read more... )

It was totally by chance the Michael spotted Guy coming towards him on the path, just as he was out admiring the scenery in front of the compound-turned-lodge. Thankful that the other hadn't appeared to have spotted him in return, Michael hid behind some nearby trees, balling up some snow in his gloved hands. Childish? Michael? Noo...

Guy was on a ( Read more... )