Behind Daniel Craig’s last license to chill, kill and thrill, which MGM hopes includes the box office, his faithful Moneypenny Naomie Harris says: “Women play a central role in this. Badass, into the action, not rescued by anyone. Strong, powerful, capable women.”

He’s in heat with Franco Léa Seydoux who says: “People will be surprised because of the love story.”

Bombshell Lashana Lynch who breaks down doors and racial barriers: “We’re the kind of women you see in the world today. My character’s cocky. Holds her own. The only woman of color in MI6.”

Ana de Armas, the salsa in his step: “Daniel. Sophisticated. Strength. Sense of humor. One of the best James Bonds ever.”

Shaken, stirred and now on to Macbeth. We love you, Mr. Craig. Bond voyage.

We just had the UN here. Ambassadors hit parties, grab parking spots, often are pains in the international assets. But another story’s about their wives, daughters, assistants who find themselves in a new strange land, strange sounds, customs, appliances. And often must unravel that alone.

The husband’s not domestic. Doesn’t give a fig when nobody in the laundromat speaks Swahili.

I’ve interviewed them. One without milk for her infant fashioned formula with room service sugar instead of dextrose. Another from a small African country didn’t know uptown versus downtown. Told about gratuities, she tipped a bus driver who hollered at her so she then stiffed a cabbie who hollered at her. She next stopped venturing out at all.

A South American with six children had to find an apartment. How? Spoke no English. Didn’t know about nursery schools, sitters, au pairs, mothers’ helpers or where you find a maid. She cried for six months.

One delegate ordered four chairs. All arrived broken. What does she do? A lady from India who didn’t understand a washing machine: “In my country we don’t need. People wash our clothes for us.”

Fatima, 20, from an Eastern country, never before away from home. Alone, frightened, no friends. We helped her find an apartment, took her furniture shopping, invited her to dinner.

New York’s 302 square miles, 8ish million inhabitants, thousands of trains and buses, and there now exists a commission to explain where to find a foot specialist, furnished room, your needed soybeans, whole pig, or you-name-it-we’ll-find-it authentic Polish sausages.

One Asian assistant told me American ladies are stupid. They lack conversation. All they ever ask is, “How do you like the United States?”

Tomorrow’s books are all about yesterday. Former NBC News producer Pamela Hamilton’s “Lady Be Good: The Life and Times of Dorothy Hale” is about the Roaring ’20s Dorothy who danced on Broadway with Fred Astaire and was in a Frida Kahlo painting . . . “You Are Looking Live!” by Rich Podolsky is about Brent Musburger, Phyllis George and “the beginning of sports personalities.”

That great gospel song may soon get rewritten to be “Backward Christian Soldiers.”

Fauci says invite family at Christmas but don’t kiss them. See Santa but don’t hug him. Forget a blizzard but dine outdoors so this way you don’t get sick — just hit by a bus. Our all-wise all-knowing, all camera ready doctor is getting more TV time than Katie Couric. Enough with him. Fauc Fauci! 

To share an Only in my life with you. The bank. Doing a transaction. Bringing along Jellybean, my 2-year-old Yorkshire terrier. Customers, everyone cootchy-cooing him. While I’m with the teller making a withdrawal, on the white shiny clean marble floor Jellybean made his own deposit.

Only in New York, kids, only in New York.