Bond....Jennie Bond

I forgot to mention yesterday that over the weekend, I was in a restaurant in Wandsworth happily eating Pizza, when a 40ish year old, big fat Italian bloke came up to me and asked me whether I was 'Jennie Bond'. Apparently, 'his old school friend'....

I said no. Steve laughed. Dave practically spat out his Pizza.

Right.

Well.

I must assume, for my own sanity, that his friend 'Jennie Bond' was not THE Jennie Bond, the doyenne of BBC royal correspondents and 55ish, but infact a sleek, young gorgeous namesake around her mid-late twenties, AKA me.

I was shocked however to discover on the Guardian website, that Bond, has a darker side, indeed a 'free-er' side.

"Famed for her deferential reporting style and occasionally queenly manner - not to mention her admission that her failure to wear knickers caused her periodic embarrassment when climbing to vantage points".

Heavens above. There's hope for me yet if I chose to become a Royals reporter. Presumably if they condone knickerlessness, then swearing like a trooper, the occasional burp, and some fairly serious un-pc'ness, is going to go down as sweet as calpol.

HRH, may I present myself for duty.