A sign touting the day's event provided the first twinge of excitement, and then the long driveway finally revealed the palladian Stoke Poges Clubhouse. Later I learned it was designed way back in 1795, and today its dome and off-white facade were particularly beautiful against the azure sky. Across from the front of the main building and just off the practice green, the cars used in Die Another Day posed proudly on the lawn. Nice touch. The Jaguar's green finish dazzled in the sun, and the Aston Martin, in its traditional silver birch coloring, looked like a coiled predator ready to spring. Fabulously cool, even more so with the Stoke clubhouse as a backdrop. Many were taking photographs and a film crew was rolling. The Range Rover, understandably, received considerably less attention.

I went into the main building, past the foyer where a television was playing a loop of the DAD teaser, and into the hall to register. I wasn't sure whom I would be playing golf with just yet, and the list of potential "Bond" players included Peter Lamont, John Glen, and George Lazenby, (among many others) so I was anxious to know. A huge whiteboard noted the foursomes. My partners for the day were to be John Conteh, a retired champion boxer, and Robert Wade & Neal Purvis.

To say I was more than pleased would not be accurate. When The World Is Not Enough was released, I wrote that it was the best James Bond film in many years. I was thrilled to be playing golf with the team that had written the screenplay.

I was determined not to embarrass myself too badly (I play less golf than I used to) and wanted to spend some time at the driving range and putting green before the round. The "shotgun" start was at 1:00 PM. Downstairs then, to the locker room to change. A hall leading to the pro shop features pictures and memorabilia from Goldfinger. How extraordinary to be on the same course on which Bond defeated Goldfinger so many years ago in a film I had seen countless times. Would it be too obvious a pun to say I was getting "stoked"?

Yeah... thought so.

The Visitor's locker room is richly comfortable with wonderful amenities. Connected to the Member's locker room, it has everything one might expect from a first-class country club. A pair of golf shoes with the required plastic spikes was provided by the attendant. They looked to be brand new. I stored my gear and tuxedo for that evening's gala in an oak paneled locker, laced up, and headed for the pro shop.

The modern pro shop at Stoke (nothing anymore like that depicted in Goldfinger), rents a variety of clubs. I chose "Big Bertha" woods, irons, and the very popular "Odyssey" putter, all from Callaway. If my game suffered that day, I certainly could not use this top-of-the-line equipment as an excuse. I also picked up a dozen Nike Tour golf balls, as the shop no longer carried James Bond's Penfold Hearts.

Back outside, I ran into Perrin, Jeff, and Brad who were taking photographs and getting a feel for the course and park. I asked that they take a few pictures of me on the famous 18th green just behind the clubhouse, where Bond defeated a dazed and momentarily confused Goldfinger. They were gracious enough to do just that, and then on to the driving range.

The range at Stoke is a fair walk from the clubhouse, straight out from its front door, and as I arrived I was somewhat surprised to see no one else there. I stretched, and spent some time with my swing, working from the wedge up to the driver, just like Mr. Nicklaus advises. Not completely dissatisfied with the results, I made a mental note to set aside $2500 or so to purchase the same splendid equipment. As I began practicing with my 3-Wood, I noticed a lone figure approaching from the clubhouse. Wearing a golf hat, I could scarcely make out the tanned and handsome face. I sensed before I recognized who it was.

George Lazenby set up a couple spots to my right and did a stretching routine just as I had. Deciding not to disturb him (golf can be intense, and hell, I'll admit it, I was a little intimidated) I silently continued with my practice while surreptitiously observing James Bond. His fluid swing and the authoritative thwack as club-face met ball was telltale of someone who had studied and played the game for many years. George displayed the power I aspire to in my golf swing. His handicap would be impressive.

On the pretense of offering him some tees (he looked to be out), I introduced myself, and we struck up a conversation. The Australian accent was in full swing as we spoke a few unforgettable minutes. Mostly about golf, but I did work in that On Her Majesty's Secret Service is one of my favorite James Bond films. Eying the Callaway driver in my bag, he asked to try it, and proceeded to drive the ball impressively long and true. I was thrilled he agreed to a picture as by that time Perrin and other golfers had joined us on the range.

I had just a few minutes for some putting practice and then on to brunch. Bond director John Glen and production designer Peter Lamont were gracious in my request for photographs.

In the dining room, an impressive buffet had been set up for lunch. Some milled about while others sat, talking and eating. The atmosphere was one of fun and expectation, mixing some from the Bond family, professional and amateur golfers, and a few nobodies like me.

Doug Redenius directed me to my table, and I introduced myself to Neal Purvis and Robert Wade. Casually dressed, friendly, witty, and both with the requisite firm, dry handshake, I was thrilled to join them. We talked golf and Bond for the better part of an hour over a delicious lunch. One special moment, I was flattered when Robert Wade shook my hand and shared that he recognized my name from this website, and my review of The World Is Not Enough. I'm even pretty sure he was serious.

During our dessert of fresh fruit, Doug welcomed everyone and explained the golf rules, "Best Ball", wherein a foursome plays as a team. Highest team point total (points awarded for birdies, pars, etc.) wins. Shotgun start. There were also to be prizes for closest to the pin and longest drive. Much like the format of other corporate/charity outings I had played in, and it sounded a wonderful day.

With lunch finished, a thought occurred. It is a sobering realization the first time one realizes that doctors, cops, and Playboy centerfolds are younger than one's self. There is absolutely no turning back though, when the screenplay writers of the James Bond films are younger too.

With that cheerless thought in mind, I tried to turn my attention to golf.

Photographs of each group were taken, and then on to the 2nd hole, where our foursome would begin at the "shotgun" start. George Lazenby's group was on #1, right behind us. Behind them, Doug Redenius and his group including John Lodge of the Moody Blues were to tee off.

John Conteh is a former boxing champion and very well known in England. After the ninth hole, I trailed a few paces behind my foursome as we crossed along the parking lot to #10. A woman and her husband asked me excitedly, "Excuse me, are you golfing with John Conteh?!" "Err...yes," I answered. She was thrilled. I had no idea his level of popularity. She was truly impressed. "Do you know who those other two are?" I asked. "No? Well, never mind."

John is a terrific golfer and an even better guy and great fun to play with. He became our team's unofficial captain as he was clearly (with apologies to Mr. Purvis and Mr. Wade) the most talented of our foursome. My ability level was more on par with Robert's and Neal's, that is to say, recreational golfers, which relieved me some. It is my experience that there is little quite as frustrating as being teamed with a complete novice, or worse, being far-and-away the worst golfer in a foursome yourself. They both have lower handicaps than me (and I was at 17 when I played regularly), so none of us were duffers. I hit some bad shots with just enough good ones to keep me hopeful. The highlight of my round was a birdie on the #7 par-three, (and Stoke's "signature" hole) missing an ace by less than a foot. Typical golf day, though the setting and foursome were anything but.

I learned a lot and laughed even more during the day playing with Robert and Neal. We talked golf, family, and a bit about James Bond. They have been a writing team for nineteen years, and in addition to the Bond gig, have written several other screenplays. Plunkett and Macleane (1999) with Robert Carlyle, and Let Him Have It (1991) to name a couple, and in 2003, their project Johnny English with Rowan Atkinson and John Malkovich is to be released.

It was quite a treat and great fun to spend four or five hours with such a large part of the James Bond film brain trust. I did pose a couple questions, though the answers to all won't be revealed here. OK, one spoiler. James Bond will return to die another day. I came away utterly impressed with Robert and Neal's knowledge of and respect for the character's literary and cinematic history, and Die Another Day looks to be a fine addition to the series. James Bond is in very good hands.

It was now well past five o'clock, and as we finished the round and walked back to the clubhouse, we could hear two angelic voices rehearsing a wonderful rendition of "From Russia With Love." The night was on.

The gala was to begin at 6:00 with a champagne reception in the main hall of the Club House. At the entrance, cameras were rolling as cars and guests were already arriving. No time to waste, I had to change into black tie. Downstairs, the Visitor's locker room was now a bit of a madhouse, as many of the golfers hurriedly changed into their tuxedoes. John Glen was at the next locker and asked me to help with his troublesome bowtie. No problem John.

Upstairs, the same hall that had been mostly empty during golf registration was now abuzz with wall-to-wall people. Doug had said there were five hundred attendees and they all seemed to be here. Some seriously beautiful women in evening dress (lots of black) conversed and laughed with tuxedo-clad men. Flutes of champagne cocktails and hors d'oeuvres were being served on silver trays. Kenny Clayton was on the piano. It was indeed, impressive. The hall was not a large room and moving about wasn't easy, and I was relieved to finally make it to the bar. I surveyed the scene and contemplated just where to start.

Barbara Broccoli was sitting on the arm of an overstuffed chair and laughing uproariously at something Lee Tamahori shared with her. There's Billy Zane in a white tuxedo. Hmm, that is Shirley Eaton isn't it? Wow, the unmistakable Maryam d'Abo in a wonderfully revealing dress enjoying a cigarette and talking to a very lucky guy. Just a touch less glamorously but nonetheless resplendent themselves in black-tie, Perrin and Jeff and Brad waved me over, and we recapped the day. I shared some details of my round of golf, and then Perrin and I decided to go to the clubhouse entrance to see who else might arrive. It turned out to be a very good move.

Just at we entered the foyer, John Barry arrived with wife Laurie and their son. Wonderfully friendly and gracious, he spent an unforgettable minute with Perrin and me. I told him how much I enjoyed his work, and he seemed genuinely pleased as he shook my hand. David Arnold and his wife came in just then. Younger (damnably) than I might have thought, he also spent a few moments with us. It was a highlight of the evening and trip to have met them both.

It was still quite crowded and a bit warm in the main hall, so I worked my way through Stoke's Chapel lounge and to the patio area overlooking the golf course. It was a popular idea. Kevin Collette from France was taping some interviews, pictures were being taken, and many asked celebrities for autographs. Neal Purvis and Robert Wade were near the door, looking much more Bondian in their tuxedoes than golf attire. Robert introduced me to his lovely wife Susan, and Neal to the equally stunning Tracey. These guys are indeed leading charmed lives, I thought. I had a chance to say hello to Samantha Bond and her husband, and then there on the steps and even taller than one might think, stood John Cleese. I introduced myself and shook his hand and was not surprised to find him as charming and friendly as he is witty. While we were talking, a woman approached him and asked if it would "be rude" to request a picture. He turned, looked me square in the eye, and said, "What do you think I should say?" I just laughed, and of course he was gracious and took the photo. Brad Frank requested an autograph, and he signed it: "To Brad, an anagram of "Drab", John Cleese". Very funny. We talked a bit about Ian Fleming and the Foundation, and he was surprised and even a bit disbelieving I think, to hear that "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" was also a Fleming work. Dinner was called and he was off in search of his wife. I was disappointed our conversation had to end, but realized how lucky I was to have met the wonderful talent who has made me laugh for so many years.

Dinner was in a huge tent connected to the main building. To get there, everyone had to navigate a narrow hall, and a long and slow-moving queue quickly formed. I was in line for a few minutes and next thing I knew, John Cleese snuck in next to me. He had had no luck locating his wife, and so, apparently, decided to endure the wait with me. (I must look harmless.) Looking towards the head of the line, he asked no one in particular, "Excuse me, but has someone died up there?" We then spent ten or so minutes chatting about his role in the Bond films, his daughter the writer, his work in corporate training films, and the relative high maintenance of American women. George Martin, photographer extraordinaire, captured the two of us without me even having to ask. I was indeed delighted. As the line finally began to move, John remarked "Ahhh, someone finally removed the corpse". We entered the tent and said goodbye and the special few minutes I got to spend with Q were over.

Inside, banners on the stage celebrated the 40th Anniversary of the James Bond film series. A band played dinner music as people streamed in and found their seats. There were fifty or so linen covered tables that sparkled with glassware and crystal, and in addition to a large floral centerpiece, each table had a bottle of Grey Goose vodka, (a sponsor of the event). Nice and fun touch! I joined several associates and members of the Fleming Foundation at my assigned table (thankfully upfront), including Raymond Benson, Colin and Kelly Clark, and Ajay Chowdhury, and also a couple executives from EON productions. Two tables over sat Barbara Broccoli, Lee Tamahori, Michael G. Wilson, Rosamund Pike, David Arnold and John and Laurie Barry. The very next table included Rick Yune, George Lazenby and his new bride, tennis player Pam Shriver, Doug and Paula Redenius, Billy Zane, and Neal Purvis, Robert Wade and their wives. To the side of the stage was a table with John Cleese (who had finally located his wife), John Glen, Samantha Bond, and the son of Desmond Llewelyn among others. Maryam d'Abo sat with Shirley Eaton and Caroline Munro, wearing those ubiquitous sunglasses perched atop her head just as she did as Naomi. Sitting down amongst this impressive group was a real treat.

The program noted that this was the third "James Bond Golf Classic fund raiser and Gala Dinner", and in 2002, the Variety Club of Great Britain was the beneficiary of monies raised. Peter Janson-Smith, President of the Ian Fleming Foundation, has been associated with 007 since 1956, was host for the evening. He was at the next table with his delightful wife Lili Pohlman.

The Foundation bestows its Goldeneye Award annually on "individuals who have made a significant contribution to the success of James Bond". Recipients in the past have included Cubby Broccoli, Peter Janson-Smith, Dana Broccoli, Terence Young, and Michael G. Wilson. This year the IFF board of directors voted to honor composer, arranger, and conductor John Barry.

The festivities began with Doug Redenius saying a few welcoming and gracious words. He noted the history of the Foundation, the explosion in the attendance and success of the charity gala, and then turned the stage over to the beautiful and eloquent Samantha Bond. She recognized the luminaries present and provided a quick overview for the evening ("Remember! This is a charity event!"), and then introduced "surprise" guests, the singing duo "OperaBabes". Very popular in England (I had seen many of their billboards in London), these two gorgeous women took the stage and performed several songs from their show. In terrific voice, they were as easy on the ears as the eyes. They then performed a "special tribute" to John Barry, an excellent rendition of "From Russia With Love." Exceedingly well done, but the song was an odd choice as Mr. Barry did not write it. Ahh well, he didn't appear to mind.

Dinner was served. Citrus fruit terrine with smoked salmon, grilled supreme of chicken stuffed with apricot and chutney, served with roast ratatouille, herb baked potato and sage and onion jus, then finished with champagne and strawberry dessert with marinated fruit and raspberry coulis. Ian Fleming would have approved.

Following dinner, John Cleese presented golf awards to the winning team, as well as those who had "Closest to the pin" and "Longest Drive". John Conteh of our group took top prize for the longest drive, a true monster of a shot that traveled probably more than 310 yards, and dead center in the fairway. My hopes for the "closest to the pin" prize were dashed, after hours of thinking no one could come closer on that tough hole. It was just not to be. (Drat! It must have been those blasted clubs!) Then it was on to the live auction.

The barker was the talented and funny Tony Frame, and auction items were modeled and displayed by Miss Moneypenny herself, Samantha Bond. There was some terrifically memorable stuff. John Barry had donated an autographed copy of his score of Goldfinger, as well as a private dinner and evening with he and his wife. The starting bids for both were well beyond my meager means. There was a sword used in the new film (David Arnold outbid everyone for it), a golf flag signed by Pierce Brosnan, a poster from Die Another Day signed by cast and crew, and a soccer jersey signed by the British team. The World Cup was going on that week and the jersey was feverishly bid upon. Two tickets to the London film premiere and party for DAD were auctioned, and I was in on the fun early but dropped out when bidding topped two thousand pounds (about three thousand dollars). Samantha playfully encouraged the crowd to support the Variety Club as she circulated with each item. I think they did very well.

After the auction, Doug read a letter from Roger Moore in dedication to John Barry. It was a very gracious gesture, and in typical Roger Moore wit. Then David Arnold took the stage as he was to introduce and present the "Goldeneye" award. He spoke of his appreciation for John Barry's work, and seemed heartfelt in describing how much he had been influenced by it. He introduced Raymond Benson who performed his wonderful "Bond Suite" on piano as a tribute. John Barry stood and applauded at the conclusion. Well done, Raymond. David Arnold then noted John Barry's phenomenal career accomplishments, and finally asked him to come up to accept the "Goldeneye" award. A standing ovation from the crowd greeted Mr. Barry as he made it to the stage, and his sincere comments regarding the Foundation and this special award capped the night perfectly.

Many left as it had already been a long evening, but those who stayed enjoyed a live band and dancing. Many of the bottles of Grey Goose were uncorked, and I was introduced to drinking vodka "neat", which I do not highly recommend though it seemed just a fine idea at the time. I had the opportunity to chat briefly with Michael G. Wilson, Lee Tamahori, Rick Yune, Rosamund Pike and Billy Zane, and even had a quick spin on the dance floor with Caroline Munro. Then the official evening was done and a few of us retired to the President's Bar for drinks and cigars and to revel in the day's events.

Saturday
I was more than a bit hazy in the morning, and both Perrin and I managed to sleep through our wake-up call. Many of us had stayed at the Copthorne Hotel near Stoke Park instead of traveling all the way back to London, and in my present state, the trip back to the B&B seemed interminable. Somehow, thankfully, we made it.

That afternoon we visited Adrian Harrington's wonderfully warm and quaint London book shop, for Raymond Benson's book signing. Very little like Border's, the friendly store had books impressively displayed, and filled cases from floor to ceiling. Many rare and collectible books were for sale, and there was also a great display of James Bond novels.

Later that day we walked along the Thames to get a closer look at the MI6 building. This building was used in The World Is Not Enough, and its architecture is impressive as it sits like a monolithic fixture of authority on the river. Perrin took quite a few pictures, and as we crossed to the other side of the bridge, an unmarked police car pulled up. Two policemen with automatic weapons (these were not "bobbies") got out and asked if they could talk to us. Uh oh... It seems security at MI 6 was concerned about our photography, and for a few tense moments I thought we were might be arrested. After questioning us separately though, and realizing we were harmless (and perhaps clueless), they let us on our way. I was relieved. Perrin, definitely a bit more daring than I, snapped a couple more photos.

Sunday
I would be remiss in failing to mention that I had the opportunity to meet up with some London friends and James Bond fans with whom I have corresponded with for several years. So here's to you Mike, Tim, Mac, Paul, and Rowan. Thanks for the pints, lads. And the laughs.

Monday
Most of the Foundation group had left Sunday or Monday, and I was pretty much on my own. I walked to the EON office on Piccadilly, and briefly met with a couple of the people I had met at the gala. I also had been invited to the Chelsea Arts Club, so I made my way to King's Road in Chelsea. Played snooker, drank a couple pints, and had dinner with some wonderfully interesting sculptors, writers, and artists. We drank well into the night, and it seemed a perfect ending to my London experience.

Tuesday
My flight departed Heathrow at noon, and as the great plane now headed West over Ireland, I reveled in the memories of this trip that I knew would last a lifetime. I made a mental note to invite Doug and Paula to the best restaurant in Chicago upon my return, (as well as purchase those golf clubs for myself), took a last look at the isles through the Perspex window, closed my eyes, and fell soundly asleep.

Copyright © 2002 Tom Zielinski
Photographs are Copyright © 2002 George H Martin, Perrin Spychala, and Brad Frank, and are used with permission.