This is Daniel Craig’s new flat in London’s glittering New York. He is a fancy pants for sure.
He paid $1.9million for it. Which is all pounds, shillings and pence to us.
More importantly, this is his bumming itinerary. Which is not dissimilar to a shopping itinerary, only completely different.
Daniel Craig will meet us here (1). He will be wearing tracksuit bottoms and a white t-shirt, upon which there will be a small stain from the Ramen noodles he was eating the previous night. He will smell a little musky, we won’t mind.
What we are wearing is irrelevant because Daniel loves us for who we are. Flawless, though, if anyone’s taking notes.
There will be chat. Not much, but some. Bons mots will fly. Still laughing, Daniel will lead us here (2).
We will tell him to get rid of those ridiculous throws (3). He will say, ‘But they’re so soft!’ We shake our head. ‘No.’
Back here (2), Daniel finds every opportunity to touch us. A wayward eyelash, a stray hair, a concerned stroke of the nose which is a little rouge with poppers burns.
Then Daniel Craig gets a bit crazy, like. With one alpha-male swipe of his right arm (and a look of fear in our eyes. Which really makes them pop), Daniel clears the white laminate coffee table of all ornaments (4, 5 and 6). He then lifts us up (oooh, strong) and places us here (7). We ask him why he bothered clearing the coffee table.
Daniel Craig’s crotch is at eye level. We tell him he is wily, he bobs a curtsey.
Oh for fuck’s sake this could go on forever, and there’s a Eurovish party with our name all over it. We bum here (8), here (9) and here (10). And here (11), but that’s a whole other story.
*Iam Fleming literary estate calls; asks us to pen latest thrilling Bond novel; we accept, with provisos*
Daniel Craig's bumming itinerary,