What a lovely TV cou­ple Kym Marsh and I would ma ke... watch this space!

The Irish Mail on Sunday - TV Week - - NEWS -


I ap­peared on Sharon Os­bourne’s fe­male panel show The Talk in Los An­ge­les to­day.

James Cor­den was the other guest, some­thing I dis­cov­ered as I passed his dress­ing room and heard him bel­low: ‘YODA!’

He’s called me that ever since I gave him some ad­vice dur­ing a pe­riod in his life when his ca­reer sud­denly started tank­ing and he was sav­aged by the me­dia.

Now he’s king of late-night US TV and has been asked to host the Gram­mys.

‘I need you to suf­fer some Mor­gan-style global hu­mil­i­a­tion soon,’ I said.

‘I know, I know,’ he guf­fawed. ‘I’ll crash and burn soon, don’t worry.’

‘Just fall over on na­tional TV or some­thing?’ I replied.

‘For you, Yoda – any­thing!’ he laughed again, with a slight glint in his eye.


Cor­den ap­peared at the top of a flight of stairs for his Gram­mys open­ing, and promptly tripped and tum­bled down them.

For one glo­ri­ous sec­ond, I thought my dream had come true.

Then he sprang up again, smirked at the cam­era and car­ried on danc­ing.

It was a bril­liant joke. Al­beit, al­most cer­tainly at my ex­pense.


I’m in Florida for my TV se­ries, Killer Women. Tonight, af­ter a gru­elling day grilling mur­der­esses in a max­i­mum se­cu­rity prison, the crew and I had drinks in our ho­tel bar. I was swiftly clocked by a large group of rowdy, drunken Amer­i­cans. ‘Hey! You’re Hugh Grant, right?’ yelled one.

‘No,’ I replied, tersely, and turned back to my crew.

‘This can only get worse if they guess Jeremy Clark­son next,’ I sighed. It got worse.

‘No, wait, you’re the guy from TOP GEAR!’ shrieked an­other of the Amer­i­cans.

The crew fell about, and soon af­ter, I fell into bed. On bal­ance, I’ve had more en­joy­able Valen­tine’s Days.


Ra­dio pre­sen­ter Steve Hewlett has died from can­cer at the age of 58.

I was Steve’s very last Me­dia Show in­ter­vie­wee, for a spe­cial that aired on De­cem­ber 28 about my life in jour­nal­ism.

We met sev­eral weeks be­fore and it was touch and go whether he’d be well enough to make it.

But he did, and you’d never have known how sick he was from the way he foren­si­cally dis­sected my ca­reer, good, bad and ugly.

It was a typ­i­cal Hewlett in­ter­view: ex­pertly re­searched, skil­fully ex­e­cuted, warm in the right places, tough when he needed to be.

After­wards, we chat­ted about his ill­ness and Steve was re­mark­ably cheer­ful, and de­ter­minedly op­ti­mistic about a new clin­i­cal trial he was ap­ply­ing for.

‘I’ll try any­thing to beat this bloody thing,’ he said.

Sadly, that bloody thing pre­vailed just a few weeks later.

Steve was a jour­nal­ist’s jour­nal­ist; some­one who loved scoops and sto­ries but who most loved get­ting to the truth of a story. The me­dia world will miss him enor­mously.


I can’t think of any­one bet­ter to han­dle the fall-out from tonight’s Os­cars cock-up than War­ren Beatty.

I got to know him a few years ago af­ter Dustin Hoff­man in­tro­duced us in front of Jack Ni­chol­son at a bas­ket­ball game (is that my great­est name-drop­ping sen­tence ever?).

He’s a true Hol­ly­wood leg­end; the only per­son in his­tory to have been twice nom­i­nated in four dif­fer­ent Academy Awards cat­e­gories for the same film – first, Heaven Can Wait, and then, Reds.

He’s also known as Hol­ly­wood’s great­est swords­man, hav­ing re­put­edly bed­ded 10,000 ladies at the height of his heart-throb sta­tus.

To his amuse­ment, I was liv­ing at the time in his old rooftop suite at the Bev­erly Wil­shire Ho­tel in LA, where he spent the Seven­ties and car­ried out most of his ram­pant wom­an­is­ing.

Time waits for no lothario though, and I wit­nessed him suf­fer an in­dig­nity al­most as bad as tonight’s at a pre-Os­cars lunch sev­eral years ago when I in­tro­duced War­ren to my 5ft 10in, blonde god­daugh­ter.

Gabby had never heard of Mr Beatty and cared even less about what this ‘old dude’ had to say about life and the uni­verse.

Af­ter 20 min­utes or so, she sud­denly spied Ed­die Red­mayne walk­ing past out­side.

‘OH MY GOD! IT’S ED­DIE!’ she screamed, al­most faint­ing with shock and de­mand­ing we give chase.

War­ren, who used to have this ef­fect on ev­ery woman he ever met, and just shrugged his shoul­ders and chuck­led. I sus­pect his re­ac­tion to En­ve­lope-gate will be just the same.


Last year, I ex­pressed a de­sire to ap­pear in Coro­na­tion Street as Kym Marsh’s love in­ter­est. ‘I’d have a fight with Steve in The Rovers and then Michelle and I would slink off down the cob­bles for a bit of how’s your fa­ther,’ I told her on Good Morn­ing Bri­tain.

‘You’re NEVER go­ing to be my love in­ter­est, Piers,’ she de­clared, em­phat­i­cally, ‘on or off screen.’

Now, Steve’s been ex­posed as a cheat­ing rat and fa­ther of Michelle’s mate Leanne’s baby. So when Kym ap­peared back on GMB to­day, I tried my luck again.

‘You and Steve are ob­vi­ously go­ing to break up over the love child,’ I said. ‘So, you’re go­ing to want to turn to a com­fort­able pair of slip­pers… me.’

Kym be­gan gig­gling, then said: ‘Ac­tu­ally, I would like to see that hap­pen…’

Min­utes later, the of­fi­cial Coro­na­tion Street Twit­ter ac­count posted: ‘We can see it now, what a lovely cou­ple they’d make.’

Watch this space.

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from Ireland

© PressReader. All rights reserved.