Bond hadn't had a lashing like this since he'd had a tryste with Le Chiffre whipping his testicles with a carpet beater. Still not as bad as getting buggered by Farley-Witless of the Latin VI in the back of the Pavilion during house matches.
"Bond you're starting to lose it. You've barely made an impact on this mission. There's more radiation showing up in London than on a Lake District fell, people are getting tested left, right and centre, John Reid is sooner or later not going to be able to come up with another witless reassurance and soon the reptiles of the press are going to be asking why there are more meetings of Cobra than the Delhi chapter of snake charmers. What the fuck is going on? If you don't get your tuxedoed ass into gear I'm putting Palmer on it. He may be insufferably working class, but he has better suits than you and gets the job done and can crack eggs one-handed. Now get out of here and get something done!"
M relaxed, she always liked to see Bond leave, his arse still had it even if he didn't.
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