Come now, Mr. Bond, stop arsing around with the Queen, and let’s get back to business, shall we?

JAMES, YOUR SUITS GET SO DUSTY THESE DAYS

It’s posters. New posters.

“What’s your hobby?” “Resurrection.”

In which Bond is at least half as cool as in the Olympic opening ceremony.

So, who’s already too hot? Air-conditioned museums looking like a better and better option? Yeah, us too – add in some gin, and we’re THERE. Therefore, this TGIM is our request that you run along to the 007 exhibition at the Barbican before the Olympics start and the place is riddled with bemused Japanese tourists asking you to hold their Union Jack bumbags and take photos of them with every cracked floor tile they come across.

It’s ALMOST as huge as our world-exclusive Skyfall scoop… but not quite.

A who’s who of pensionable British talent is shipped off to the colonies for The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, a charming comedy which makes full use of its intoxicating setting and first-rate cast. Ever wished Love Actually had more curry and jokes about hip replacements?

Even DiCaprio’s firmest putting-on-glasses-then-taking-off-glasses can’t puncture this thick, bland-tastic portrait of the man who started the the FBI. Sexuality scandals, deep-rooted mummy issues, a hatred for Martin Luther King and loads and loads of holding guns – how on earth did Clint Eastwood manage to make this chap so dull?

Everyone loves Stanley Tucci. You know him, he’s the little bald chap in The Devil Wears Prada. And the little bald chap in Julie & Julia. And the little bald chap in Burlesque. And the not-bald paedophile in The Lovely Bones. See? That’s how good an actor he is – sometimes he acts HAVING HAIR. He’s not actually gay, either. Feeling ignorant? Come inside…