Piers on Piers

The following account of the CNN party at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel in London was written by Piers Morgan and posted at Mail Online. The event was held on Saturday December 11th.


CNN threw a lavish party at the Mandarin Oriental hotel this evening to launch my new show, Piers Morgan Tonight.

Jim Walton, the worldwide president of the company, revealed in his welcome speech that the potential global audience for the show could be over 300 million people - causing audible gasps of horror from my numerous 'small pond' TV rivals in the room.

'We listened to your phone calls, we read your emails,' he said, deadpan, 'and we decided to do what you asked, and take Piers out of Britain!'

A quip that provoked quite shockingly disloyal cheers.



Bruce Forsyth further summed up the mood of the room when I met him by the steaming pork bar.

'Piers, don't take this the wrong way, but I've been trying for 63 years to crack America and got nowhere. You can't sing, can't dance, and you're quite irritating - how the hell have you pulled this off?'

To which there really is no logical answer.

As I pondered this imponderable, an explosion of flashbulbs signalled the arrival of Naomi Campbell, fresh from the nearby fashion awards, accompanied by the largest entourage of the night, including Naomi's mother Valerie - who looks almost as age-defyingly young as she does - and her billionaire Russian boyfriend, Vladislav Doronin.

'Congratulations on winning the World Cup bid,' I said, as he shook my hand.

'Thank you,' he replied, beaming broadly. Then I gripped his hand a little harder, stared him straight in the eye, and spoke for the entire English nation: 'You b******s!'
For one moment, a glacial grimace appeared on Vlad's face, then he burst out laughing, as did Naomi.

Stars poured in all night, including Michael Winner, Claudia Winkleman, Myleene Klass, Andrew Lloyd-Webber, Andrew Neil, Konnie Huq, Sharleen Spiteri, and Ozwald Boateng.

Gordon and Sarah Brown were making a rare public appearance together since leaving Downing Street.The former was quite clear why he was attending the party.

'I had to come,' he said, seriously, in front of all my new CNN bosses, 'just to make sure Piers was really leaving the country!'

Daybreak duo Christine Bleakley and Adrian Chiles were also on perky form, as well they should given that ratings for their morning show have risen nearly 30 per cent in the past three weeks.

The biggest problem when they launched was that the glass-walled backdrop looked so black and gloomy in winter, something that clearly hadn't been properly thought through when they devised the concept last summer and the mornings were bathed in sunshine.

Now they've introduced some drapes, and colour, the whole set looks instantly more cheery, and as a result, so are the ratings and the presenters.

'We're having a lot of fun now,' said Christine. 'It's not been easy but we're getting there.'

Even Adrian was nearly smiling, which for old grumpy chops is quite something.

James Corden was almost exploding with excitement.

'This is HUGE!' he kept shouting, as we exchanged a series of increasingly passionate hugs. 'Like the HUGEST thing EVER!'

Later, as I talked to Louis Susman, the charming U.S. ambassador to London, about the sensational arrest of Wikileaks founder Julian Assange, I felt someone pinch my backside.

I turned slowly, hoping to find Cheryl Cole, and instead saw the beaming visage of one Bruno Tonioli.

'Piersy baby!' he shrieked at the top of his voice, 'Ow are you, my darling man!'

He then planted two passionate Italian kisses on my cheeks. I turned back to the ambassador, who remained expressionless. Which is why he's such a great diplomat, I guess.

At 10pm, I retired to my new pub (I've bought the Hansom Cab in London's Kensington) with a phalanx of hard-core guests including three newsreaders - Emily
Maitlis, Katie Derham and Sophie Raworth - two Dragons - Peter Jones and Duncan Bannatyne - and one musical genius in Lord Lloyd-Webber.

All was going swimmingly until Steve Jones, the disturbingly good-looking Welsh TV heart-throb, stood at the bar and stage-whispered to me: 'Where did you get those barmaids from? They're so FIT!' I looked to where he was pointing, and raised an eyebrow.

'Seriously, man, you don't see barmaids that hot in pubs normally...'

And on and on he drooled for some time, until eventually I felt compelled to clarify the situation as one of the objects of his fantastical lust re-emerged into view to pour him another pint of Harveys.

'Steve,' I said, calmly.

'Yes Piers.'

'Meet Celia.'

'Hi Celia.'
Pause.
'She's my WIFE.'

There was a deliciously long silence as the full horror of his behaviour set in. At which point Jones collapsed into a curled-up ball of shame, moaning 'No, no, no...'

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