Wednesday, December 1
At 56, it’s gratifying to know I’m only one per cent less desirable than the world’s top pop heartthrob.
Thursday, December 2
Arsenal played Manchester United tonight and I sent Cristiano Ronaldo a desperate plea before kick-off: ‘Please don’t score against us…’
I (Piers Morgan) would have accepted Cristiano Ronaldo’s (above) apology if it hadn’t also contained a laughing emoji
Of course, he scored twice, and United won 3-2. ‘Sorry,’ Cristiano texted back after the final whistle.
I would have accepted the apology if it hadn’t also contained a laughing emoji.
Friday, December 3
Clive Myrie is the BBC’s ubiquitous new face of unimpeachable decency.
So imagine my surprise when I watched him guest-host Have I Got News For You tonight and say ‘Viewers of Good Morning Britain claimed to have spotted a teddy bear in Susanna Reid’s knee’, as a picture appearing to confirm this ludicrous assertion appeared on screen.
‘To be fair,’ he added, ‘Susanna’s knee only looks like that after repeatedly kneeing Piers Morgan in the b******s.’
(‘Why?’ asked Paul Merton. ‘Has he got teddy-bear-shaped b******s?’)
The panel and audience roared with laughter, but I didn’t.
Aside from ‘Saint’ Clive’s offensive language, it was disappointing to see him and his colleagues so gleefully celebrate violence in the workplace, without a thought for how this might trigger my mental-health trauma over Susanna’s brutal attacks.
Obviously, monstrous Myrie must be immediately cancelled. But on a positive note, I’m available to replace him as host of Mastermind.
Sunday, December 5
My brother Jeremy is leaving the Army after 35 years in which he served in various wars and reached the rank of colonel.
He’s a massive Genesis superfan, so as a mark of gratitude for his heroic dedication to protecting our country, I decided to take him to possibly the band’s last-ever UK concert at London’s O2 arena – sitting in a VIP box with Angie Rutherford, wife of Genesis guitarist Mike Rutherford, a golfing pal who’s keenly aware of my sibling’s lifelong devotion to his music.
‘Fantastic!’ Jeremy exclaimed delightedly, before revealing he’d also bought tickets for the other two O2 shows.
Then, disaster struck: Mike and other band members got Covid, and the gigs were scrapped.
Jeremy, 55, took it well. ‘Short of death, this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,’ he declared, which, given what he went through in places like Iraq and Afghanistan, was quite a statement.
Mike understood the gravity of the situation. ‘I feel totally responsible for Jeremy missing the O2 shows,’ he messaged me from New York two weeks ago. ‘Tell him I have tix for him at Madison Square Garden if he can get out here.’
I got him out there, and tonight, he and his wife Sue sat in the best seats at the fabled MSG and enjoyed what he said was an ‘utterly brilliant show’ and ‘an experience beyond my wildest dreams’.
Thanks for your generosity, Mike, and thanks for your service, Jeremy.
Monday, December 6
Sir Rod Stewart was asked by Radio Times whether he thought Good Morning Britain was better without me.
‘I love Piers,’ he replied, ‘and I miss him badly. He was superb, especially with politicians. I think they go to the University of Avoiding Answers.’
They do, Sir Rod, but don’t worry, I’ll be back holding them to account again soon.
Tuesday, December 7
Piers is an endangered species. Online parental website BabyCentre revealed that not a single couple registered the name with their database in 2021 (Muhammad, Noah and Oliver were the top three most popular).
‘Of course, Piers could be on the extinct list for reasons other than fashion!’ sneered the company’s boss, Sarah Redshaw.
But her jibe misses the point.
Piers has never been a fashionable or popular name. There are very few of us (I’ve only met about a dozen others in my entire life, two of whom, incredibly, were also Morgans) and I prefer it that way.
Like Oprah, Adele and Drake, I take great pride in being globally mononymous (an individual known mainly by a single name) and the last thing I want is a gazillion other Piers running around stealing my thunder.
Wednesday, December 8
Ant and Dec are the toast of the nation after ripping Boris Johnson to pieces on I’m A Celebrity… So, I was excited to get an invitation to appear in their next series of Takeaway.
Ant and Dec (above) are the toast of the nation after ripping Boris Johnson to pieces on I’m A Celebrity…. recently
Then I read the script, which involved them going to the Devil’s house, hearing his answer machine go off and my voice say: ‘Hey Dev, it’s your boy Piers Morgan here. We still on for that drink Friday night? Lads, lads, lads! Lemme know, mate!’
To which Dec says ‘Appalling!’ and Ant nods: ‘I know! Can you believe the most evil man in the history of the universe… is calling the Devil?’
Suffice it to say, they can shove their invite up their impertinent Geordie backsides.
Thursday, December 9
This is my final diary before I head off to new televisual and literary pastures with my old boss Rupert Murdoch.
In next week’s Mail on Sunday, I’ll revisit the best, worst and funniest moments of my 15 years of partying and scrapping with the world’s most famous people, for a special All-Time Morgan Awards.
But for now, I’d just like to say a sincere thanks to all my regular readers for putting up with my humungous ego, and to the wonderful MoS staff who’ve ensured the often-absurd vagaries of my life are at least presented in a grammatically correct manner.
Especially, our chief sub-editor, Nick Bagot, who very sadly has died recently aged just 50. Nick sub-edited my very first column back in October 2006, and worked on most of them ever since, even after he fell ill.
He was a brilliant journalist and a great guy.
I dedicate this last column to Nick. RIP.