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When you are an agent in Her Majesty's Secret Service you can be assured of never having a quiet Sunday afternoon to potter around the garden. The agent in question, Mr J. Bond, has to cope with a rather nasty drug problem. Not one of his own, you understand, but one posed by a certain Mr Big, who has this habit of peddling illegal recreational pharmaceuticals.

Big's HQ is in the wetlands near New Orleans and the only reasonable way of getting to them is by powerboat. To ensure you have slightly more than a fighting chance, Q has supplied you with a rather special powerboat. Not only has it got a top speed of something dangerous, but it also has a neat line in creative weaponry, such as a nasty cannon with a supply of very nasty missiles.

Since bespoke powerboats of a destructive persuasion do not come cheaply, you have a chance to practice on what look suspiciously like the Norfolk Broads. A percentage rating is given once your time or fuel is up. It is always dismally low.

Two other exercises are available, both allowing training in the various 3spects required for the final mission. The Sahara exercise is a natural obstacle course. You even get to scrape the boat up a ramp, with accompanying graunching noises - shades of the original film.

The North Pole run is more of an out-and-out carnage drive with nasty boats and planes, most of which can be shot. Working out how to shoot the planes isn't immediately obvious but is, as they say, easy when you know how.

You are not entirely on your own on your one-man crusade to keep a sharper image than Jonathan Ross. Helicopters occasionally buzz overhead to dump fuel or extra missiles.

You must drive over these to pick them up, but Sod's law dictates that the canister is dropped immediately in front of rocks.

The New Orleans "final" mission throws everything at you - tunnels, ramps, narrows, lock gates, waterside gun emplacements - generally the works.

Everything moves very quickly. so a sharp eye and very nimble fingers are required. Only when you've hammered through enough helland-high-water do you get a crack at Mr Big's dope emporium. The chances of actually getting that far are pretty slim, far slimmer than the ubiquitous Bond girl who is probably draped by the side of the able agent.

If this game leaves you shaken but not stirred, you can rely on James Bond 007 to remain unruffled. The presentation is as slick as the man himself.