As you may have heard (if you haven’t, I’m losing my narcissistically self-promotional touch) my new TV show Piers Morgan Uncensored launches soon and will air daily in America, Australia and the UK, thus fulfilling my long-held ambition to become a global irritant. The title provokes mirth among those who feel I’ve never shown any sign of being censored. But my enforced removal from Good Morning Britain last year for refusing to apologize for an honest opinion that Meghan Markle is to veracity what Vladimir Putin is to humanity was cowardly corporate censorship, and I’m confident that if Princess Pinocchio writes to my new boss Rupert Murdoch demanding my head on a plate — as she did to ITV’s CEO Dame Carolyn McCall — she won’t be quite so successful.
My brilliant team are working feverishly to land big-name guests (the first show, featuring former president Donald Trump, is an eye-popping corker…) and getting some amusing responses. Fiery filmmaker Oliver Stone emailed back: “Piers, I look forward to your new show and congratulate you on the way you keep managing to make a better bed for yourself each time you get fired. Best, Oliver.”
Last summer I caught the Delta variant at the Euro 2020 soccer final. (When I told my wife Celia that I was going to Wembley stadium with 80,000 sweating, shrieking fans because “Football’s coming home!” she replied with remarkable prescience: “I suspect coronavirus is coming home instead.”) Afterwards, I developed very dreary long Covid for eight months. This manifested itself in no taste or smell, disconcerting brain fog and constant energy-ravaging fatigue.
But then a strange thing happened: I embarked on a crazy six-week global PMU promotional tour which took me from London to New York, LA, Florida, Honolulu, Sydney, Dubai, London, New York, LA, Florida, London — and rather than it finishing me off, it finished off the long Covid and I feel back to normal. My doctors are as bemused as I’m relieved.
Piers Morgan Uncensored launches on Monday April 25 on Fox Nation. A longer version of this article was originally published in The Spectator’s UK magazine. Subscribe to the World edition here.
