PIERS MORGAN: DELICIOUSLY INDISCREET
SUNDAY, JUNE 11
Bumped into Tom Parker Bowles at the London Food Month Night Market in Kensington Gardens.
‘Mum’s been enjoying you roasting all these politicians in the morning,’ he said. ‘She gets up especially to watch it.’ ‘Mum’, of course, is Camilla Parker Bowles.
This won’t quite land me a ‘By Royal Appointment’ addendum to my Good Morning Britain presenter title but it’s a start.
MONDAY, JUNE 12
I recently enjoyed a very salubrious week in St Tropez where I drank my body weight in rosé and daily consumed vast slabs of cheese and bread. On my return to GMB, I sensed a non-coincidental tightening between my neck and shirt collar.
An hour into today’s show, one of my copresenters, Charlotte Hawkins, picked up a white button and said: ‘Is this yours? It just bounced off the desk into my face.’
I checked my shirt but it seemed fine. ‘No.’
The mystery remained unresolved until an eagle-eyed viewer posted a video on Twitter of the offending button springing loose from the very top of my shirt, then hanging perilously to my tie for several seconds, before pinging off, smacking into the desk and flying up at Charlotte as she tried to read the news.
I joked about this throughout the rest of the morning until another viewer tweeted me to beg: ‘Love watching you but I’m really struggling today. Please stop going on about the button. I have a phobia of them and it’s making me feel sick.’
I burst out laughing but Susanna quickly silenced me. ‘Button phobia is a real thing. One of my sons had it. It’s called koumpounophobia.’
Graham Brady, chairman of Parliament’s powerful backbencher 1922 Committee, was our next guest.
‘You Tories are only keeping Theresa May as leader to save your own scrawny necks, right?’ I bellowed.
‘I don’t think we should talk about scrawny necks this morning, Piers,’ he replied, to hilarity in the studio,
Jeez. Roasted by a politician; Camilla will be so disappointed in me.
TUESDAY, JUNE 13
There have been many heroes of the recent terror attacks but I particularly love Roy Larner, the football fan who single-handedly took on all three jihadis in a pub at Borough Market with the immortal words: ‘F**K YOU! I’M MILLWALL!’
Roy was stabbed eight times, including a huge ten-inch slice across the back of his neck. But when he appeared on GMB today, he shrugged it off as just ‘a bit of bother’. Which, to be fair, it probably was for a Millwall fan.
Roy’s homeless at the moment, sleeping on a mate’s sofa, and hasn’t got a job. Yet he risked his life to save women and young children from being murdered.
His only gripe was a lack of food. ‘I’ve been nil by mouth all morning!’ he groaned.
Bradley Walsh joined him on the sofa. ‘Piers is the one who needs to be nil by mouth,’ he quipped, ‘permanently!’
SATURDAY, JUNE 17
‘You look very familiar?’ is a line that, like everyone in the public eye, I hear several times a day. I used to put the questioners at immediate ease and say who I was.
But that often led to crushing disappointment. So now I always reply: ‘Brad Pitt, nice to meet you.’
It usually gets a good laugh, and very occasionally they actually believe it and I have to explain why I treated Angelina so badly. Tonight I was waiting in the security line at Atlanta airport when a very elegant-looking African-American lady behind me said: ‘You look very familiar.’
‘Brad Pitt,’ I replied, shaking her hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘I know you’re not Brad,’ she responded, with unnerving confidence.
‘No, I’m actually Piers Morgan,’ I confessed. ‘Ha! I’m Mary Wilson,’ she chuckled. ‘Ha!’ I also chuckled. ‘Not THE Mary Wilson?’
Of course, it was indeed THE Mary Wilson, the singing legend from The Supremes.
‘I’m so sorry for not recognising you,’ I stammered desperately.
‘Don’t worry, honey, nobody does when I’m not wearing any make-up. That’s why I never wear make-up when I travel.’ She looked supremely beautiful, make-up or no make-up.
‘I’d also like to apologise for pulling that ridiculous Brad Pitt line…’
‘I understand,’ she said, stifling a withering smirk.
As we shuffled on down the line, I attempted some face-saving small-talk. ‘Where you headed?’
‘London, for some shows.’
‘That’s great! What’s the song people love most when you perform?’
‘Oh you know… Stop In The Name Of Love and Baby Love.’ ‘Predictable,’ I said. ‘Yes,’ she sighed, wearily. I’d become the world’s most annoying Supremes groupie. To complete my ignominy, I then set off a security alarm and was led away for a series of aggressive, full-body pat-downs.
Mary walked on with a bemused, slightly anxious face that suggested I had moved from Brad Pitt wannabe to possible terror suspect.
MONDAY, JUNE 19
Very sad to hear of Ant McPartlin’s problems. He’s a great guy, and the very last celebrity mate I’d expect to find in this position.
But I’m sure he’ll come through it, not least because he has the devoted love of his wife Lisa, who’s worked with me as a make-up artist on Life Stories for years and is one of the nicest, most genuine people you could ever wish to meet.
I wish them both all the very best through what I know has been, and will continue to be, an incredibly difficult time.