And oh--mmm, Lagavullin!

mmm, Manchild!

God, i adore ASH in that show. Pant pant pant. The scene where he lifts the towel in the Turkish bath and shows...no, never mind.

Lovely stuff, deb. Really evocative of another time and a place where magic is real.

And here I sit without BBC America. Hate you people, hate hate hate.

I did have it for a year before I moved to NY in 2001, but all it had when it started was old Ab Fab and Blackadder reruns.

Caroma, there are those of us who might be suitably enticed, or even asked nicely, to tape it.

I mean, naked Tony Head, naked, yes yes yes.

Thanks, Elena. Next installment within the confines of the weekend. And I have to work on Chapter 5 of Matty Groves (third series book) as well. It's research time (not for me, for the characters0.

I don't know the time frame for Matty Groves, but I think that you need to have one of the characters step out for jelly doughnuts during the research binge.

deb, I don't think I've said so yet, but I am in love with your stories.

Martinis and golf are enough in common for a cross-over.

It's not as convincing as it could be, is it?

Warning: monkey crack ahead.

• **

The bar was crowded and filled with smoke, which suited those meeting there just fine. Tokyo’s a good place to go when you need to get together off the record—a fact that the two men in the darkest corner where well aware of. They were secret agents, working under code names for their respective countries: and with the war in Korea rapidly becoming more important, it was only natural that they should be discussing it.

Colin Antwerp—his real name was Felix Leiter, but that didn’t appear on his passport—had arrived first, to sit waiting, wondering if his friend and partner, Britian’s top agent, possibly even the best in the world, was going to get there at all. The information he’d been given about one Colonel Flagg’s adventures in Korean army service hospitals was too good not to pass on, but as always, he worried about James.

Still, the guy seemed to be able to look after himself pretty well. Felix—sorry, Colin—held onto that thought. 007 wasn’t in the habit of being killed, and he was fashionably late whenever it suited him. The American agent shrugged, ordered another drink, and sat back in his seat to wait as long as it took for James Bond to turn up.

• **

The first thing Bond saw as he drove the slightly battered Bentley into M*A*S*H 4077 was a tall man wearing a red towelling robe, dozing in the sunshine. The information Felix had been able to give him seemed to suggest that this was the place to start looking for any traces of SQUIRM in the allied armies in Korea, and he figured he might as well start at the beginning.

He braked the Bentley—poor, battered Bentley, but at least it was better than an army jeep—and leaned out the window. “Hey, fellow! Is this the M*A*S*H 4077?”

Hawkeye opened his eyes slowly and blinked in the sunshine. “It is. Who’s asking?”

“Bond—Major James Bond.” He’d chosen the rank carefully, trying to be high enough up to carry weight but low enough to be ignored if he needed to be. “Who are you?”

“Captain Hawkeye Pierce.”

“Why aren’t you saluting, captain? For that matter, why aren’t you in uniform?”

“I’m not on duty. Besides, I don’t know you from Adam.”

“You can see I’m wearing an army uniform—and that I’m a major. How much evidence do you need?”

“It’s not about the evidence. I’m a doctor, I don’t have to salute to anyone. Especially Brits.” Hawkeye pulled his hat back down over his eyes and proceeded to ignore the stranger.

So this was what Flagg had been reporting. Insubordinance. Lack of respect for the traditions of the army. Laziness. What about actual disobedience? “That’s an order, solider. On your feet.”

Seething with anger, Hawkeye got up, and sketched something resembling a salute, if you had a very good imagination. What a cheek this guy had! To come in here and order someone who’d worked fourteen hours solid the previous night to do anything. He consoled himself with thoughts of the chewing out this Brit would get from Henry Blake.

Bond nodded. “That’ll do. I think we should go and see Colonel Blake.”

“You know him?” Hawkeye relaxed a little. Perhaps this guy only looked like an enemy—and by that, he didn’t mean a North Korean.

“By reputation, yes. They say this is the best M*A*S*H in Asia.”

“Best care anywhere, that’s us.”

“You must work hard.”

“Nah. Mostly I’m out here for the golf.”

That made Bond smile, seeing at once Flagg’s real problem: that the men here were getting through the war by making light of it, but he expected them to be serious and deadly. Somehow, Bond felt that Hawkeye had probably chosen the saner option. “I might join you for a round or two, then, but I do have a job to do first. Which way to the colonel’s office?”

“It’s the one on the left. You can’t miss it.”

“From directions like that, I rather think I might. I’d be grateful if you’d show me.” Hawkeye looked doubtful. “At home, I’d try and claim it was in return for a ride in the car, but I don’t think this rust bucket will stand up to that sort of thing.”

“That’s all right—I’m sure we can find a dark corner in the store tent,” Hawkeye said, walking round the car to get in. “Butt I’ll want dinner and a movie first.”

Bond started to drive down the hill again, coming into the first few tents. “Where’s the colonel hide himself, then?”

“Over there, on your left. Past the mess tent—that’s this big one—there, where Radar’s just coming out.”

BWAH! OK, crossover delish.

Am, the only thing in there that jarred was his "Hey, fellow!" For some reason, very unBondian to me, the juxtaposition of those two words.

I lurve the rest. Keep it coming.

(and hope the board doesn't crash again)

I don't know the time frame for Matty Groves, but I think that you need to have one of the characters step out for jelly doughnuts during the research binge.

They're at a prestigious private invite-only arts festival at a stately home in Hampshire, and they're dealing with what they've figured out is an incubus. The research is in the family muniments. So if they want jelly donuts, they ring for them - if they're really lucky the owner won't bring the plate with his hawk on his wrist. He has a nasty habit of wandering around the place with it on his arm. I wouldn't fancy trying to wrestle with a tiercel over pastry.

Nearest town is about five miles away.

I'm also Manchild deprived, damn it. ASH in a Turkish bath, ooh.

ASH in a turkish bath, talking about his penis. ASH in a turkish bath, talking about and lifting the towel...no, I am not going there.

Not out loud, anyway.

Anne, BTW, did I say thanks? For enjoying Amanda?