‘Taxi for Piers Moron!’ the papers screamed after my mask gaffe… they were right
Monday, November 30
I’ve been gripped by The Undoing, the riveting US psychological crime drama starring Nicole Kidman, Donald Sutherland and my old ‘friend’ Hugh Grant who, to nobody’s surprise, was exposed on tonight’s finale as a lying, cheating, morally bankrupt, supercilious, smarmy narcissist.
Sorry, I mean Hugh Grant’s character. Obviously.
Tuesday, December 1
On the subject of brutal murder, I was intrigued to be the subject of a shocking, friendly-fire onslaught from fellow ITV ‘talent’ Martin Lewis, who told two families in a quiz on his Money Show: ‘At the supermarket, on impulse, you buy yourself Piers Morgan’s nude calendar 2021, excited about the idea of a nude, naked monthly picture of the Good Morning Britain host.’
Pause. ‘When you get it home, sadly you realise it’s undersized and won’t properly fill the space that you require. What do you do?’
I don’t know what the families answered, but I do know what I intend to do with Mr Lewis, and it involves a calendar comprised of his own body parts – severed with a chainsaw.
Tuesday, December 8
The coronavirus vaccines started rolling out today, reducing an emotional Matt Hancock to a strange half-giggling, half-sobbing mess when the Health Secretary appeared on Good Morning Britain today.
He was promptly convicted of ‘crocodile tears’ by the court of social media and nobody seemed sure if he was crying or laughing, sincere or acting.
The coronavirus vaccines started rolling out today, reducing an emotional Matt Hancock (above) to a strange half-giggling, half-sobbing mess
To be fair to Hancock, which is something I’d normally travel continents to avoid doing, given his woeful handling of the pandemic, I suspect he was just overwhelmed by the fact that he’s finally presided over the one thing in this crisis that appears, so far, actually to be working.
Friday, December 11
Just when we thought 2020 couldn’t possibly dish out any more sadness, Dame Barbara ‘Babs’ Windsor has died. The phrase ‘national treasure’ is overused these days, but Babs really was beloved by much of the country; a wonderful actress and such a magnificent character – warm, hilarious, mischievous, loyal and tough as old boots.
I knew her for more than 30 years and can’t remember a single time we met when she didn’t leave me creasing up in laughter with that hysterically infectious cackle of hers.
When Babs and her husband Scott – who disproved early cynicism about their 27-year age gap by being an absolute rock to her right to the end – took the incredibly difficult decision several years ago to reveal publicly that she had Alzheimer’s disease, I emailed them to say how courageous I thought they’d been and how much I was rooting for her.
‘I’ve just read your email to Barbara,’ Scott replied, ‘and she smiled and said, “I’ve always liked Piers, he’s a rascal, but a lovely one! and he did the best TV interview with me I can remember when I did Life Stories.” ’
Of course, Babs was a lovable rascal herself, which is why we got on so well, and that Life Stories show was also one of my favourites. At the end of it, I asked her whether she’d rather be remembered for the ‘world’s most famous giggle’ or the ‘world’s most famous cleavage’.
She was indignant at my impertinence and replied: ‘I don’t want either of those. I’d like: “She was a good bird.” ’ The whole audience roared and sprang to their feet to give her a rousing standing ovation – the first time that had ever happened on the show.
RIP, Babs, you were most definitely a good bird.
Sunday, December 13
Last night, after dining at Harry’s Bar restaurant in Mayfair, I left to find paparazzi lurking in the shadows. I stopped to have a chat with them and asked how they were doing in the pandemic.
‘Very badly,’ said one, ‘it’s hit us hard because there are so few parties or celebrities going out.’
I offered my genuine sympathy. Unlike many high-profile people, I like most paparazzi, and often have a good laugh with them. They’re only trying to earn a crust from the same celebrity/media pie that I am.
‘You’ve always been good to us, Piers,’ another said, warmly. ‘We really appreciate it.’
‘You’ve always been good to us, Piers,’ one said, warmly. ‘We really appreciate it.’ I wished them good luck, bid them farewell and jumped into a black cab with my wife (above)
I wished them good luck, bid them farewell and jumped into a black cab with my wife.
As I sat inside, my pap pals unleashed a barrage of flashbulbs.
‘They won’t make much from these,’ I chuckled to Celia. ‘Poor guys.’
This morning I awoke to the photos splashed all over the papers.
‘PIERS MORGAN FLOUTS CORONA-VIRUS RULES AS HE FAILS TO WEAR MASK IN TAXI!’ cried The Sun.
‘TAXI FOR PIERS MORON!’ screamed the Daily Star, more succinctly.
They were right. After being distracted by my chat with the photographers, I’d completely forgotten to put on my mask as I clambered into the cab – as now required by law – only remembering to do it a few seconds later as we pulled away.
So I’m now officially one of the Covidiots that I’ve spent the year berating for not abiding by the rules. I’ve no complaints: live by the censorious sword, die by it, and I think it’s very important we all wear masks whenever we should, so I will now try even harder to remember to do so.
Gary Lineker, who himself recently got caught without a mask in a shop, was amused that I’d slipped up too after I’d taunted him about his gaffe, though he was also bemused, emailing to say: ‘I’m surprised Celia doesn’t insist you wear one 24/7?’ Ho ho.
On a positive, deeply ironic note, those impoverished paparazzi will have made a ton of money out of my slip-up. Merry Christmas chaps, and to all of you.
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