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And now, in Casino Royale, he's lost his gadgets too. Because why give him a watch that can undo a bra strap when the world is awash with Vin Diesel and Arnie and a host of other secret agents whose watches can be used to get stones out of horses' hooves?

So what are we left with? A bloke with a biggish packet and a triangular torso in a film that everyone agrees is pretty good. But would it have made the grade were it not for Thunderball and For Your Eyes Only? Would Casino Royale work without the history? This, of course, brings me to the new Porsche GT3 - the latest offering from the 911 franchise.

In essence, it's a stripped out, ready-to-race version of the Carrera 2. So you get a roll cage instead of back seats and a massive fuel tank instead of a boot. You also get tyres that are nigh on slick, a spoiler big enough to serve as a landing strip for small aircraft and a ride quality with all the give and compliance of a Chechen terrorist.

This car, then, is exactly what you don't want to find in the car park of your London flat when you have the worst hangover in the world, and you need to be in the middle of Gloucestershire for 8.30am.

As I rode down to the basement in the lift, holding on to the walls with one hand to stop myself falling over, and my head with the other to stop it coming off, I didn't know what sort of car my wife had left down there. Fondly, I imagined it might be a Rolls-Royce Phantom.

Or maybe a bright grey Honda Legend. Or anything with wallowmatic suspension, excellent air-conditioning, and an engine that made no noise at all.The GT3 was wrong in every way. And to compound the issue, it is, of course, a 911 - a car I've never liked.

My relationship with this brainchild of Hitler is curious. I've always enjoyed driving them, apart from the 1992 RS which was horrid - and purple, if memory serves - and I've always admired the quality. But they've all failed to put their hands down my trousers and give me a squeeze. I find them as emotionless as limestone and as a result, I would never even think of buying one.

No matter. In his review in the Sunday Times recently, esteemed writer Andrew Frankel said that the GT3 is a car that you cannot drive slowly.

Well, I'm sorry, but at 7 o'clock in the morning, in a horrid wet London rush hour, when you have a pile-driver in your head, trust me on this: you can. And I did. And boy, was that car nasty.