The new Bond film is glamorous mysogynistic twaddle. I wouldn't usually put the second word in, but when the film Suffragette is on at the same time, you realise we have moved on, well, women have moved on, but men, men in power at least, have moved from being deeply superficial to superficially deep. I suppose thats progress of sorts. Its like realising something is important, not knowing why and not knowing how to achieve it, but knowing how to pretend you've got it. Politicians do it well. So do TV presenters. Its called soul. And although this Bond film was desperately trying to find soul, the train fight (the one with Sean Connery in From Russia with Love much better), the fast car chases (Rome looked better than the cars), everything looked like a Milk Tray advert but without the man handing over the bloody chocolates and leaving with his calling card. Now the man arrives with the chocolates, eats them all himself and then shoots you. And if he's as toned and handsome as Bond is, he is more likely to be gay anyway.