The Irish Mail on Sunday - TV Week - - FRONT PAGE - Piers MOR­GAN


Su­sanna Reid and I filmed a promo out­side 10 Down­ing Street for our spe­cial post-elec­tion Good Morn­ing Bri­tain show on June 9.

‘I’m afraid you can’t start yet be­cause there’s a Cabi­net meet­ing about to break up,’ said a po­lice­man when we ar­rived.

‘This could be fun,’ I said to Su­sanna, as we stood where the press pack nor­mally re­sides.

‘Morn­ing, Mr Davis!’ I shouted as Brexit min­is­ter David Davis sud­denly emerged at speed and darted down the road. He com­pletely ig­nored me. ‘How rude,’ I ex­claimed, in­dig­nantly. ‘Not re­ally,’ sighed Su­sanna, ‘it’s Michael Fal­lon.’

Min­utes later, Boris John­son bounded out of the fa­mous black door like a hy­per­ac­tive labrador.

‘Quick chat, For­eign Sec­re­tary?’ shouted Su­sanna.

He looked over, screwed up his eyes in dis­be­lief, and then burst out laugh­ing.

‘Come on, Boris, you know you want to.’ I urged.

‘No chance, Mor­gan. I have vi­tal cam­paign­ing to do!’ he chor­tled back. ‘Wouldn’t it be safer not to?’ I sug­gested. We did our promo, and then I asked the very help­ful po­lice­man one last ques­tion of huge na­tional im­por­tance.

‘Have you ever ac­tu­ally seen Philip May put the bins out?’ He grinned. ‘I have to be hon­est, no!’ Later, I en­joyed a de­light­ful lunch with Holly Wil­loughby at Scott’s restau­rant in May­fair.

We dis­cussed ev­ery­thing from my re­cent con­tro­ver­sial GMB de­bates over women’s marches, men­tal health and gen­der neu­tral­ity to Princess Diana, Don­ald Trump and Arsene Wenger (her hus­band Dan’s a diehard Gooner like me).

Af­ter­wards, as we shared a taxi back to our homes, Holly posted a photo of us on her var­i­ous so­cial-me­dia plat­forms with the cap­tion: ‘Lovely af­ter­noon with Piers Mor­gan. Thank you for a won­der­ful lunch. X.’

Within sec­onds, all hell broke loose as her mil­len­nial fans re­acted an­grily to the news.

‘Oh Hols,’ wrote one, sum­ming up the gen­eral mood. ‘I love you but re­ally?! How dis­ap­point­ing.’

Others fu­ri­ously ques­tioned her in­tel­li­gence, soul and san­ity. ‘Feck! Is this nor­mal?’ she texted me. ‘You’re the Mother Teresa of TV and I’m the Devil In­car­nate,’ I ex­plained.

‘This is my per­sonal favourite,’ she said, en­clos­ing a screen­shot of a mes­sage on her In­sta­gram, say­ing: ‘Big t**s meets a f***ing mas­sive t**.’


Boris John­son went to a Sikh tem­ple to­day and de­light­edly promised the au­di­ence that a Tory gov­ern­ment would end tar­iffs on In­dia’s im­ports of Bri­tish whisky. There was first stunned si­lence, then ab­so­lute out­rage.

Drink­ing is for­bid­den un­der many Sikh teach­ings, and es­pe­cially in tem­ples.

Oh Boris, I did try to warn you…


When I was a teen, my favourite band was punk/mod icons The Jam.

I was at their 1982 farewell con­cert in Brighton, and even to­day I still work out to Go­ing Un­der­ground when I want to get my day off to an an­ar­chic start.

Lead singer Paul Weller was ev­ery­thing I wanted to be: a snarling, spit­ting, sav­age, anti-Es­tab­lish­ment rebel.

Sadly, Mr Weller’s view of me isn’t quite so ad­mir­ing. In an in­ter­view with Q Mag­a­zine, he was asked if he’d ever ap­pear on my Life Sto­ries show.

‘You get asked to do s*** like that,’ he re­sponded. ‘But I’m not go­ing to go on that show. Talk to that **** ? You’re jok­ing me. I don’t do that stuff. It’s very, very un­hip from where I come from.’ Weller was born in Wok­ing, Sur­rey. I was born in Guild­ford, pre­cisely 6.9 miles away. Mate, we’re from the same ’hood.


Still reel­ing from my child­hood hero’s snub, the GMB team for­warded an email from Lo­ca­tion, Lo­ca­tion, Lo­ca­tion star Kirstie All­sopp.

‘I’d love to do GMB,’ she wrote, ‘I’m a big fan of the show. As you prob­a­bly guessed I, like Ewan McGre­gor, couldn’t sit along­side Piers Mor­gan on the sofa. I re­main hope­ful that at some point soon GMB will recog­nise the er­ror of its ways and see the dam­age caused by Mor­gan’s big­oted and an­tag­o­nis­tic at­ti­tudes. It’s very sad for Su­sanna that she has to work with him. I re­alise that with a fam­ily to sup­port it is hard for her to take a moral stand against Piers’s in­volve­ment with the show. I look for­ward to find­ing a suit­able Thurs­day or Fri­day slot. Kind re­gards, Kirstie.’

It was only my long-time friend’s small, cry­ing, laugh­ing emoji after her name that gave the game away…


This col­umn be­gan with 10 Down­ing Street, and it will end with it.

A new sur­vey asked Brits to say which celebrity they would like to be­come Prime Min­is­ter of the UK from a list of ten names: David At­ten­bor­ough, JK Rowl­ing, Emma Wat­son, Louis Th­er­oux, James Dyson, Ian McKellen, Jeremy Clark­son, Rowan Atkin­son, Katie Hop­kins – and me.

In the ini­tial vote, David At­ten­bor­ough won and I came a cred­itable joint fourth with eight per cent of the vote. But the poll kept run­ning on The Scots­man news­pa­per’s web­site, and I later roared into the lead with 36 per cent to David’s 12 per cent.

Mean­while, those PC-crazed, snowflake luvvies Rowl­ing and Wat­son gained a de­risory six per cent and four per cent re­spec­tively.

In light of this, I am now ob­vi­ously ‘con­sult­ing with friends and fam­ily’ with a view to throw­ing my hat into the po­lit­i­cal arena.

Be­fore you scoff, let me re­mind you that I won Celebrity Ap­pren­tice USA, and the guy who chose me is now Pres­i­dent of the US.

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