Mondays Are Hell


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Mondays Are Hell was one of the working titles for Moonraker. One day you’re thwarting a criminal treasure racket in Jamaica, the next it’s back to paperwork. With its hefty slug of tequila, this cocktail echoes Bond’s defiant approach to the grind of desk work, which certainly occupied Ian Fleming for large stretches of time in Naval Intelligence. It also includes many ingredients with the nutrients to help shrug off the fog of a weekend’s revelry and gird you for another week with nose to the grindstone. The more you put into a drink like this, the more you get out, which is why our version includes so many freshly juiced fruits and vegetables alongside traditional Bloody Mary ingredients. Do not be daunted by the tequila; its flavour profile perfectly matches the spice and tang of the sauces and seasonings and the freshness of the tomato. You’ll need a fruit and vegetable juicer.

15ml (½fl oz) freshly juiced carrot

15ml (½fl oz) freshly juiced celery

60ml (2¼fl oz) freshly juiced cherry tomatoes

60ml (2¼fl oz) passata

60ml (2¼fl oz) blanco tequila (with 100% agave)

pinch of salt

pinch of pepper

drop of English mustard

drop of horseradish

6 dashes of Tabasco sauce

6 dashes of Worcestershire sauce

2 teaspoons barbecue sauce

2 teaspoons lemon juice

TO GARNISH

2 small red chillies

fresh coriander leaves


Measure the ingredients into a frosted mixing glass and top up with ice. Stir until very cold, then strain into a large Highball glass over more ice. Garnish with two small red chillies and coriander leaves.


NOTE: if you are feeling adventurous, you could replace the tequila with a raw, smoky mezcal.

MONDAYS ARE HELL

The lift eased to a stop and as Bond stepped out into the drab Ministry-of-Works-green corridor and into the bustling world of girls carrying files, doors opening and shutting, and muted telephone bells, he emptied his mind of all thoughts of his shoot and prepared himself for the normal business of a routine day at Headquarters.

He walked along to the end door on the right. It was as anonymous as all the others he had passed. No numbers. If you had any business on the eighth floor, and your office was not on that floor, someone would come and fetch you to the room you needed and see you back into the lift when you were through.

Bond knocked and waited. He looked at his watch. Eleven o’clock. Mondays were hell.

MOONRAKER

CHAPTER 1. SECRET PAPER-WORK


When Bond came through the door, M was sitting at his broad desk, lighting a pipe. He made a vague gesture with the lighted match towards the chair on the other side of the desk and Bond walked over and sat down. M glanced at him sharply through the smoke and then threw the box of matches on to the empty expanse of red leather in front of him.

“Have a good leave?” he asked abruptly.

“Yes, thank you, sir,” said Bond.

“Still sunburned, I see.” M looked his disapproval. He didn’t really begrudge Bond a holiday which had been partly convalescence. The hint of criticism came from the Puritan and the Jesuit who live in all leaders of men.

“Yes, sir,” said Bond noncommittally. “It’s very hot near the equator.”

“Quite,” said M. “Well-deserved rest.” He screwed up his eyes without humour. “Hope the colour won’t last too long. Always suspicious of sunburned men in England. Either they’ve not got a job of work to do or they put it on with a sun-lamp.” He dismissed the subject with a short sideways jerk of his pipe.

MOONRAKER

CHAPTER 2. THE COLUMBITE KING


He was feeling dreadful. As well as acidity and liver as a result of drinking nearly two whole bottles of Champagne, he had a touch of the melancholy and spiritual deflation that were partly the after-effects of the Benzedrine and partly reaction to the drama of the night before.

MOONRAKER

CHAPTER 8. THE RED TELEPHONE


image Other suggested titles for Moonraker, the third Bond novel, included: The Inhuman Element, Wide of the Mark, The Infernal Machine, Out of the Clear Sky and Hell is Here.

image “Mr Fleming is splendid, he stops at nothing,” said the New Statesman in its review of the book. The Spectator thought it “all utterly disgraceful and highly enjoyable”.

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