PIERS MOR­GAN

The Irish Mail on Sunday - TV Week - - PUZZLE TIME -

SATUR­DAY, APRIL 28

‘How would you like to take Goldie Hawn as your date to the White House Cor­re­spon­dents’ Din­ner?’ asked one of my Cnn-show pro­duc­ers.

Tra­di­tion dic­tates that all Amer­i­can TV news an­chors (no, that’s not pro­nounced with a ‘w’ in my case — but thanks for ask­ing) take a big- name guest to the event, one of the most glit­ter­ing in the US po­lit­i­cal cal­en­dar. ‘Are you SE­RI­OUS?!’ I replied. Ms Hawn has been one of my favourite stars since I was 15 and Pri­vate Ben­jamin came out. Any woman who could ac­tu­ally make a man DIE dur­ing sex on their wed­ding night had to be pretty spe­cial. I said ‘Yes’ faster than Usain Bolt would take to cover a mil­lime­tre.

Tonight, I got in my limo in Washington DC and headed to Goldie’s ho­tel, the Four Sea­sons. ‘Fancy a drink in the bar to calm your nerves?’ I texted en route.

She re­sponded in­stantly. ‘Com­ing down. Drink. Bar.’

Goldie looked sen­sa­tional wear­ing a shim­mer­ing black dress, white fur wrap and a sprin­kling of jew­els bright enough to light Capi­tol Hill for the night. ‘Fab­u­lous dress!’ I ex­claimed. ‘Dolce & Gab­bana,’ she ex­plained. I pulled open my jacket. ‘Ditto.’ We or­dered Cham­pagne. ‘Now, Piers,’ she said, pierc­ing me with those daz­zling blue eyes. ‘Tell me all about YOU.’ For half an hour we chat­ted about life, pol­i­tics, Kurt Rus­sell (the other man in her world) and daugh­ters. Goldie’s, of course, is su­per­star ac­tress Kate Hud­son. Mine is Elise Mor­gan, only five months old but no less of a su­per­star. ‘You’ll be the most im­por­tant man in her life for­ever,’ she warned. ‘Don’t ever for­get that.’

We drove to the Hil­ton. ‘This is where Ron­ald Rea­gan was shot,’ Goldie noted as we walked in­side. ‘Well, I’m sure our evening will go bet­ter,’ I re­as­sured her.

Red car­pets nor­mally fill me with hor­ror. But not this time. ‘Let’s go rock them, baby,’ Goldie urged, slid­ing her arm through mine. Flash­bulbs ex­ploded, as did my ego. I now know how El­iz­a­beth Tay­lor’s seven hus­bands must have felt in sim­i­lar sit­u­a­tions. You un­der­stand it’s not about you, but God, it feels good.

Diane Keaton passed by, clocked the scene, stopped dead in her tracks, roared with laugh­ter, clapped, shouted ‘HA!’ and walked on. Or maybe it was ‘HOW?’

We went for more Cham­pagne at a CNN pre-din­ner re­cep­tion, where we alighted on Kate Hud­son. ‘MOM!’ she squealed. ‘KATE! Meet Piers!’ ‘I’m your mother’s hot date,’ I said.

‘Great date! Good laughs, good chat, good fun, good guy!’ tweeted Goldie.

What a gal...

‘Oh, I know,’ smiled Kate. ‘She’s been look­ing for­ward to it. This is Matt,’ she added, in­tro­duc­ing me to an ex­tremely po­lite English­man.

‘What does Matt do?’ I whis­pered a bit later to Goldie. ‘He’s a mu­si­cian,’ she said.

It was time for din­ner. ‘I need BREAD,’ de­clared Goldie, ‘and I need it NOW.’

‘God, you movie- star di­vas are so de­mand­ing,’ I replied. We sat at our ta­ble, slap bang in the mid­dle of a cav­ernous ball­room teem­ing with 3,000 guests, 30 yards from where Pres­i­dent Obama would be sit­ting. ‘Should we min­gle?’ Goldie asked. ‘Nooooo. Let the moun­tain come to Muhammad.’ And so it did.

Goldie is ridicu­lously fa­mous — and ridicu­lously pop­u­lar. Ev­ery­one LOVES her. Woody Har­rel­son, Colin Pow­ell, Vi­ola Davis, Google chair­man Eric Sch­midt — all joined the throng pay­ing de­lighted homage to my golden guest.

Elle Macpher­son was the only one not happy. ‘He was MY date a few months ago, Goldie,’ she protested. Which is true: we sat to­gether at the Pride of Bri­tain Awards.

‘Jeal­ousy’s a ter­ri­ble thing, Body — do calm down,’ I in­sisted.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get bet­ter for my own rather jaun­diced brand, Eva Lon­go­ria came and sat next to us, took my hand and purred, ‘Piers, I loved our last in­ter­view. Can we do it again soon?’

‘He is great, isn’t he?’ agreed Goldie, adding her hand to the pile. ‘I loved mine too.’ I have no idea what heaven’s like, or in­deed if I’ll ever get there, but if I do, I reckon it’ll re­sem­ble some­thing like this.

Pres­i­dent Obama made a very funny speech, mock­ing all and sundry.

This time last year, at the same event, he made a sim­i­lar speech hav­ing just or­dered Seal Team Six to take out Osama bin Laden. His favourite tar­get that night was Don­ald Trump, who’d been loudly ques­tion­ing the ve­rac­ity of Obama’s birth certificate.

Tonight, his open­ing line was: ‘Last year, we fi­nally de­liv­ered jus­tice to one of the world’s most no­to­ri­ous in­di­vid­u­als…’ As the au­di­ence broke into ap­plause, the big screens sud­denly switched to a photo of Trump.

There was a lav­ish af­ter-party hosted by Van­ity Fair at the French em­bassy. We all piled into one car — me, Goldie, Kate and Matt. ‘This is a bit of a squeeze,’ said Goldie. ‘Do you mind if I put my arm around you?’

‘Mind?’ I laughed. ‘I’ve waited 30 years for this!’ The party was no­table for var­i­ous sur­real mo­ments. I fi­nally met Harry Pot­ter — ac­tor Daniel Rad­cliffe, who was very small, very funny and very self­aware. ‘You hav­ing fun?’ I asked.

‘God, yes,’ he replied. ‘I can’t be­lieve my f***ing luck!’

‘But how on earth do you live up to that role in the fu­ture?’

‘I don’t. I’ve re­alised I’ll never do any­thing that big again and I’m cool with that.’ Smart boy. Some­one brushed past me, slightly knock­ing my el­bow.

I was go­ing to re­mon­strate when I re­alised it was Sal­man Rushdie, and he prob­a­bly had a large se­cu­rity de­tail ready to fight such bat­tles for him.

Talk­ing of bat­tles, I also spoke pri­vately to Gen­eral David Pe­traeus, new head of the CIA — and by com­mon con­sent the world’s top mil­i­tary man. He was qui­etly spo­ken but in­cred­i­bly im­pres­sive.

Oh, and then I got drunk with Ge­orge Clooney. Yep, I re­ally did.

We stood to­gether in the cen­tre of the party from 2am to 3am, drink­ing vodka and swap­ping crazy sto­ries. He’s hi­lar­i­ous. More im­por­tantly, he gave me three bear hugs at var­i­ous times. Which is like the Hol­ly­wood ver­sion of a Pa­pal bless­ing.

At some stage dur­ing the night, two other things hap­pened:

1) I dis­cov­ered that Kate’s fi­ancé, Matt, was in fact Matt Bel­lamy, lead singer of Devon-born group Muse, cur­rently one of the world’s hottest rock bands.

2) Matt was asked by an­other guest, in all se­ri­ous­ness, if he was my body­guard. It says all you need to know about him that he found this ques­tion as en­ter­tain­ing as I did.

SUN­DAY, APRIL 29

Goldie, who was just the sweet­est, smar test , fun­ni­est , classi­est com­pan­ion imag­in­able, tweeted the fol­low­ing words to me: ‘Great date! Good laughs, good chat, good fun, good guy!’ What a night... what a gal.

Be­low: Goldie

Hawn, who was Piers’ date at the White House Cor­re­spon­dents’ Din­ner last week

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