The 007 Diaries by Roger Moore

Author:Roger Moore
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The History Press

Today, we were working on the lovely road to Luca for B-Day Thirty-Eight. It runs from Montego Bay through sugar cane, high wooded hills, and then drops to skirt the palms and sea. Somewhere along the road, I am literally going to catch a bus. At this stage in the plot, Bond becomes a bus driver; I jump into the driving seat, Jane clambers aboard, and we use it to escape from pursuing police.

This bus, which was shipped over from London, is a normal double-decker that has spent the best years of its life on the London no 19 run. It has been resprayed from its London Transport red to a muddy mixture of greys and greens, which the Art Department decided would be the colours of the fictitious San Monique transport.

Everyone who has ever travelled on a double-decker will have had the dizzy, dreadful thought of what would happen if the bus drove under a low bridge. During the bus chase sequence, we are going to find out and the bus has been specially prepared for it. The upper deck has been cut away and placed on rollers so that when the crash comes it will shoot spectacularly backwards leaving Bond and Solitaire in the bottom half to escape under the bridge; the top and bottom decks are temporarily bolted together for the chase build-up to the crash. All this is much more easily said than done; the sequence will take several days to shoot.

In charge of the bus and here to teach me how to handle it is Maurice Patchett, a London Transport bus driving instructor, who has flown in for what must be one the of oddest jobs any driving instructor has been paid to do: to teach somebody how to drive a bus and successfully smash it.

We arrived and there was the double-decker looking quite incongruous, parked among the palms a few yards from the lapping Caribbean. George Crawford’s catering tables were lined neatly by the sea-side, and as I sat down for a quick cup of coffee I learned of another disaster the day before. The forty-seater coach, which carries the crew to and from their hotels, had been hit on a hill by my trailer going backwards. Apparently, the trailer driver had stopped, not put his handbrake on, and it rolled back, crashing into the coach. No one was hurt, but it smashed the coach windscreen and the crew had a very breezy drive back.

Today was to be less spectacular, but brightened by a visit from Luisa, who took some photographs for this book, and my son, Geoffrey.

This afternoon, George Whitear, our photographer, appeared with a look of blank amazement on his face, muttering something about a coconut and pointing at his camera. While he was standing under a tree, a falling coconut had hit his camera and smashed the shutter. Such are the trials of the tropics.

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