I enter a pharmacy in the middle of Zagreb and head for the counter. “Resveratrol,” I say. The pharmacist on duty goes to the cashiers and searches for the food supplement on a computer screen. “Unfortunately,” she says, “we don’t have it, but we’ll have it tomorrow.” I shrug my shoulders, and she opens a notebook on the counter. “Your last name?” she asks. “You won’t believe it,” I start, “but it’s ‘Bon’.” And then I draw quotation marks in the air with my fingers. “All you lack is a ‘d’,” she bursts out laughing. “Quite the opposite,” I frown half in jest, “the secret agent’s last name has gotten a ‘d’ too many!” At any rate, it is amazing how many people make the connection. It started in the States many years ago, but it is following me all the way to Croatia. I would hate to have Bond for my last name, though. As it is, my last name beats it by a whole letter, although “d” is hardly a letter worth bragging about. Bond, my ass.