'Your Missions Will Be Saving American Lives'

Jason Bourne makes James Bond look like Ed Milliband with a tampon up his arse.
Bourne’s musical score’s much more edgy. Bond’s sounds like the looping of an old lady’s fart.
I’m glued to The Bourne Ultimatum and desperately need to make some toast but there’s no way I was missing a second, so I wait for the adverts and swoop down the stairs (just like Bourne).
Once in the kitchen, I stride over to the fridge (trying my hardest to look like Bourne), pull the door open (again, just like Bourne) and identify the items needed for my task.
Bread, butter, Primula cheese with prawns. They’re out of that fridge and laid on the work surface quicker than a quango getting another heretical scheme rubberstamped by Cameron. Bourne would have been proud of my movement but he doesn’t have time for toast, though our plights are similar in that time is of the essence.
Bread in toaster, butter wrapper open, Primula top off. Bang! Each of my muscles are tight, my mind purposeful. Nothing can get in the way of my toast-making.
I’d left Bourne in Madrid, where he’d met his old buddy Nicky Parsons, who loved him and wanted to help. She’d double-crossed Treadstone.
I looked at the reduced price tag on my Hovis ‘Seeds Sensations’ loaf; 89p down to 39p. Bang! The Primula had been a shrewd purchase, too; £1.32 down to £1. Wallop! I punch the air with my clenched fist.
As the toast pops up, I’m quick to administer the spreads after a quick waft to the toast to speed the cooling-off process. I know that the butter won’t spread so well if I don’t waft it.
Bread, butter and Primula back in the fridge. Smack!
But then I have a dilemma.
I also need a cup of tea but I forgot about it in the heat of the moment (Bourne wouldn’t have forgotten), so I slyly fill the kettle and press the button. Smash!
The tea will have to wait till the next ads but that didn’t matter. All that matters is Bourne. I know I can’t miss a minute.
As I climbed the stairs with my side-plate, I laugh to myself thinking of Bond. He means nothing.
By the time I got to my room, Bourne’s already on a boat. From Madrid to a boat! Bond would have messed about with some slapper or ordered a Pina Colada somewhere to advertise another stupid watch or driven around in a sponsored Lotus. Not Bourne. He steals cars and bikes and takes the guns from the killers he beats to a pulp.
He has the girl but there’s no time for sex. Bond’s an English prick. Bourne’s an American anarchist!
This was a man whose identity had been taken from him. He’d been on the run for crimes he couldn’t even remember committing and they’d even killed off his wife.
Having been brainwashed to do the dirty work of an evil government, only to be double-crossed by them to cover their tracks, they wanted him dead at any cost to keep their secret quiet, so now Bourne’s only purpose is to find out who he was so that he can bring the bastards to justice and return to his old life without being chased. It probably sounded very familiar to any number of civil servants whose traps could be silenced with early retirement.
A lifelong runner from society in a bid to detach myself from its hideous ways, I felt an empathy with Bourne as I had with Bond as a child.
By the time Bourne and Richards were in Tangiers, hot on the tail of Neil Daniels, who could tell Bourne who he was, the toast has been wolfed down.
The absence of tea doesn’t cross my mind. It would just have to wait.
Bourne gets blown up and Daniels is dead. Desh gets away but Bourne needs to get back to Richards to save her from Desh.
Back in New York, the leader of the government scum is confronted by Pam Landy about his wish to kill Richards for double-crossing him.
‘We can’t terminate Richards, she’s one of us,’ Pam said. ‘When will it end?’
Scumbag looks at her with his slit-eyes. ‘It ends when we’ve won.’
Meanwhile, Bourne’s jumping across the Tangier skyline and jumping through windows to save Richards from Desh, who’s hot on her tail in the crowded market.
Bourne finds her, kills Desh and takes his phone to lie to New York that his mission has been accomplished.
The adverts come on and I take off. I glide down the stairs (like Bourne, obviously), giggling to myself (like a madman).
I flick the switch on the kettle as I walk past towards the fridge.
Milk. Bang!
From the cupboard I swipe at the sugar, pluck out a tea bag and grab a mug. My mind is so focussed that I’m not even looking.
The kettle comes to boil in seconds. Wallop! In goes the teabag, water and sugar.
I stand in awe of Bourne, dreaming of the day when programmed killers who think they’re doing God’s work suddenly click and start thinking like Bourne. I get tired walking to the library so I may not be able to join in, but I’ll be there in spirit.
I imagine a day when the strong and misguided see through the game and revolt, rendering capitalism powerless to their might. They’ll rip out the systems in place and tear off the heads of the scumbags they served, and then we’ll start over, fresh for the new fight to rid the world of the fear we all live under.
The tea needs another minute to brew properly. If there’s one thing in my world that can’t be rushed, it’s the teabag in my mug.
I wonder how long it will take for the strong to realise they’re just killers of the meek, strangling the life out of the miserable to enhance the lizard egos of the super-rich. Longer than a teabag in my mug.
The tea’s ready. The teabag flies into the bin. Smack! The teaspoon flies into the sink. Wallop!
I stride the stairs. The tea doesn’t spill. As I approach the top of the stairs, I realise for the thousandth time that tea never spills when I’m not looking at the mug as I walk.
By the time I enter my room, Bourne’s already in New York! He hasn’t slept for a week and he’s looking tired.
He gets in touch with Pam Landy and the conversation is taped. When Landy tells Bourne his true identity and gives him his date of birth as an encrypted message to meet him at a certain destination, she leaves her office, telling the scumbag she’ll draw Bourne out, so the scumbag goes out in his car to track Landy and kill Bourne.
But Bourne’s gone into the lair and he’s in the scumbag’s office! He even calls the scumbag to record his voice to open the safe, where he finds the Top Secret papers with all the other already terminated Bournes !
Bourne meets Landy and gives her the papers. She faxes them off to the government who (apparently) don’t have the foggiest what Treadstone have been up to.
The scumbag’s fucked!
Bourne goes in search of Dr Albert Hirsch, the doctor who coaxed Bourne into becoming someone he’s not so that he can kill at will. Hirsch tells him who he is and how he’d volunteered to the project.
Bourne remembers everything.
‘Your missions will be saving American lives’, he remembers Hirsch telling him.
Then the compound’s ambushed and Bourne jumps through the window. Of course he doesn’t kill Hirsch because he’s not worth the bullet.
Tearing across the roof of the building, Bourne’s finally trapped. A killer has him in his sights.
Bourne knows his time has come. There’s nowhere to run.
‘Look what they make you give,’ he says to the young killer. ‘Do you even know why you’re supposed to kill me?’
The young killer looks uneasy, which gives Bourne time to jump into the river.
The scumbag arrives on the scene and takes a hurried shot at Bourne. Then, as I wonder if he’s killed Bourne, I can’t help wondering whether he shoots the young killer for not killing Bourne.
Bourne lies motionless in the water. Sequences of the scumbag’s future demise float across the screen, Nicky Richards hears news that Treadstone’s travails have been revealed and that Jason Bourne’s been presumed dead, although his body wasn’t found (which makes her smile from ear to ear).
Then Bourne swims back to the surface. Bourne's God and Bond's a wanker!