Continuing on a literary bent, I find that what distinguishes great writers in their ability to put into words what we can only feel. Of course, that is not to say that writing is superior to feeling. As I said to a very dear friend a few days ago, the truest means of communication- the only time we can have any amount of certainty that God is speaking to us- is our feelings. However, it is difficult to able to communicate those feelings to another person, and that is where speech and writing come in.

At the end of Moonraker, for instance, James Bond is waiting for Gala Brand at a cafe some time after they foil Hugo Drax's plot. He intends to leave with her. She calls his name and he looks up. There she is: heart wrenchingly beautiful. But the way she is standing, the way she is looking at him, the sadness in her eyes, and he realises: she is not for him, an instinct confirmed a moment later when she begins to speak. She tells him he is wonderful, special, and their time together will always be treasured, but she cannot be with him. And she walks out of his life.

That sense of loss felt by Bond at that exact moment is unspeakable tortuous, worse than anything he endured at the hands of Drax. It's a feeling I know.

For those of you who appreciate the greatness of Ian Fleming and his literary creation, as distinct from his cinematic creation, then I advise you to hurry out to your nearest bookstore as Penguin UK will be publishing ten of the Ian Fleming titles under their Modern Classics imprint this month.

This imprint only publishes seminal modern works and I personally am delighted that Ian Fleming is joining this prestigious list, in the company of authors such as Evelyn Waugh and George Orwell.

The ten titles are Casino Royale, Live and Let Die, Moonraker, Diamonds are Forever, From Russia with Love, Dr No, Goldfinger, Thunderball, On Her Majesty's Secret Service and You Only Live Twice.