Tuesday, May 25

To Birmingham, for my first speaking engagement since the pandemic began. On arrival at the Vox arena, I learned that organisers had deployed an interesting marketing strategy, selling special tickets to people who despise me so they didn't have to listen to my pearls of wisdom.

The Entrepreneurs Circle informed its members: ‘Those who purchase an "Anti-Piers Morgan" ticket will be given warning before Piers enters the building, and will be invited to attend their own private session with no mention of Piers at all. 

Attendees can even rest assured Piers won't profit from them, as all "Anti-Piers Morgan" tickets will be discounted by £30 - the portion of the ticket price that would have paid for his fee.'

It transpired that only two of these tickets were actually bought, whereas tickets to share the same airspace as me quickly sold out.

‘Where is the private session being held?' I asked, curious to meet my super-non-fans.

‘We can't tell you,' came the response, ‘it might trigger their Anti-Piers anxiety.'

Sunday, May 30

Celebrated my father Glynne's 80th birthday with a family barbecue down in Sussex.

Eleven years ago this week, he suffered a big stroke and as he lay in hospital, we all feared he may not come out again. But Dad survived and had a double reason to celebrate. 

‘When I had my stroke,' he said in his speech, ‘my wife told me she'd read about new drugs that might help me live for ten more years - so I'm delighted to be standing here 11 years later and have finally proved her wrong about something!'

Thursday, June 3

‘Good manners,' said Motörhead wildman Lemmy, ‘don't cost nothing.' I was reminded of this when I received messages from two knights of the realm involved with my Life Stories series.

Sir Rod Stewart appeared in Sunday's 100th anniversary compilation of my favourite moments over the past 12 years, and emailed to say: ‘Piers, me old sausage, watched the 100, thanks for including me and I have to tell you, it's one of the best bits of TV I've seen in a while, very touching, straight up, no messing about interviews.

Absolute masterpiece, congrats, Sir Rod.'

His generous reaction was matched by Sir Keir Starmer, who not only texted me before and after his show aired on Tuesday to convey his appreciation (‘I'm not the world's best at talking about my background,' he admitted, maling porno ‘so it was really important for me to do so.

Huge thanks for having me on. Vic and I have been inundated with positive messages.') but also took time to send my long-time producer Yvonne a very heartfelt note of gratitude for the ‘incredibly professional, calm and insightful' way she and the whole Life Stories team handled the ‘private issues' in his life.

Most guests don't bother with such courtesies, so when they do, it says a lot about them.

Saturday, June 5

On my first-ever visit to the Derby, I found myself in the next-door suite to Simon Cowell and his family.

‘This is Piers, he used to be on TV,' Simon informed a young waitress when I popped in to say hello.

‘I did, yes,' I confirmed. ‘I was on a show called Britain's Got Talent when it used to get 20 million viewers…'

‘TOUCHÉ!' Cowell chuckled.

We studied the race-card together and Simon's eyes alighted on a horse named Escobar at 10/1 in the 3.10pm.

‘Has to be, doesn't it?' he chuckled.

I concurred.

With his deep Malibu-bronzed tan, stubble and jet-black shades, Simon is currently bearing a close resemblance to his Colombian spirit animal Pablo.

I followed him to the betting kiosk outside his suite and watched in amusement as he pulled out a gigantic wad of £20 notes and began slapping them down fast on the desk like a frenzied croupier.

As he went on, and on, and on, I was reminded of what Escobar's brother once said about his cartel boss sibling: ‘Pablo was earning so much money that he would write off $1 billion each year because the rats would eat it in storage.'

Ironically, the only people still flashing around large amounts of cash in these Covid days are drug dealers, or, it appears, talent-show tycoons.

‘Have your credit cards been declined or something?' I eventually enquired.

‘No, my credit's fine, thanks Piers,' he retorted.

‘I'm still employed, unlike some I could mention…'

He then explained that he'd used a card to place an earlier £2,500 bet but had been misheard and only £25 was actually processed. ‘By the time I realised, it was too late,' he said, ruefully, ‘and of course, it won. So, cash it is from now on…'

Later, Clare Balding appeared to offer Derby tips.

‘Put your mortgage on Bolshoi Ballet,' she declared confidently.

So, I duly waged a large sum on the red-hot favourite, only to see it lollop in seventh, rounding off a disastrous gambling day.

On the way out, I bumped into Cowell again.

‘How did you do?' he asked.

‘Terribly!

Lost every race and the bookies cleaned my clock on Bolshoi Ballet.'

‘That makes me so happy!' sighed Simon, with the same beatific smile he flashed when Susan Boyle hit the high note on I Dreamed A Dream in her BGT audition and he realised he'd hit the KER-CHING!
jackpot.

‘Stack blown at Epsom,' I tweeted on the way home. ‘I'm blaming it on our expert tipster Clare Balding.'

‘I'm taking all the credit!' she replied, proudly.

Sunday, June 6

Good Morning Britain's tumbling ratings have plunged to their lowest-ever level as just 451,000 people tuned in to Wednesday's show with comedian Adil Ray sitting in my old chair.

Newspaper reports today suggest ITV want Susanna Reid to have a female presenting partner to stop the rot.

If it appeases the woke brigade, I'm prepared to identify as a woman to get the ratings back to the peak of 1.9 million where I left them.