Pierce Brosnan didn’t know he’d been dropped until the last minute, and there was a massive outcry because “Bond shouldn’t be blonde-haired and blue eyed”.

I want to take you back to before Casino Royale, when Daniel Craig was announced as the new Bond. Frankly, beyond this point I figured that James Bond couldn’t get any worse. I only go to the cinema to see things that I think I’ll enjoy, so it was a massive surprise that a fairly reassuring pillar of my film library should cause such annoyance. I left the cinema that day in a state of disgust, and that rarely happens. Scarily, this might actually be what Bond films are like when you distil them down to their core elements (I don’t really believe this, but it’s possible). The film’s production team were tasked with honouring Bond’s 40th anniversary, and they created something that paid so much tribute to the Bond series that we ended up with a film that was a gurning, moronic self-satisfied cretin of a movie. Put yourself in my position – you’ve just watched the Bond franchise fire a nail gun into its own ball-sack over and over for two hours in the absolutely dire Die Another Day, a film that didn’t just jump the shark, it strapped rockets to itself and then took off over Sea World. You have to understand that there’s a reason I like Casino Royale so much. Three Blokes and a Chick Watch: Casino Royale

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