Today my apple was a Suave secret agent called James Bapple. His hobbies included having a licence to kill, bedding as many girls as possible and drinking vodka martini, shaken but not stirred. His last words were, “The name’s Bapple, James Bapple.” I asked him whether it was frightening putting his life on the line for Queen and country and he said the real worry for him is stds. He tasted like who I wanted to be when I grew up until I realised I was an idiot.