News, Culture & Society

The heavyweight clash between Lord Sugar and Piers Morgan 


Whenever I am taunted for being an ‘English w***er’ on Twitter, I reply: ‘I’m not English.’

This usually sparks another furious flurry of abuse from trolls pointing out that as I was born in Guildford, Surrey, I am therefore ‘100% English’.

To settle this matter once and for all, I performed a DNA test for Good Morning Britain involving a swab of my mouth that was sent to an expert heritage laboratory in America.

Apprentice host Sugar branded me ‘blubber boy’ and ‘beached whale’, while I called him ‘Lord Chubster’

It revealed I am 91% Irish/Scottish/Welsh, 6.5% Eastern European, 1.6% West Asian, and 0.9% Middle East.

What I’m most definitely NOT is even remotely English, not even 0.00000001%.

So, dear trolls, by all means continue to call me a ‘w***er’, but do not call me an ‘English w***er’ because I’m not English.


Lord Sugar and I have struck a £5,000 charity bet – proceeds to Great Ormond Street Hospital – as to which of us can lose most weight by December 12.

At the live GMB weigh-in, he weighed in at 14st 3lb, me at 16st 6lb. (Well, he is 3ft smaller than me…).

Like any top heavyweight clash, the trash-talk swiftly turned personal and nasty.

Apprentice host Sugar branded me ‘blubber boy’ and ‘beached whale’, while I called him ‘Lord Chubster’. Eventually, Susanna Reid had to warn us to stop fat-shaming each other.

It’s been a roller-coaster campaign so far.

I began promisingly on a strict kale-and-spinning regime in health-obsessed Los Angeles, but fell off the cycle while working on a crime documentary in Missouri where every (gigantic) meal comes with cheese and chips.

I then suffered ten days of raging man flu back in London that prevented me working out and provoked sporadic, disastrous comfort eating.

Today, former Tottenham Hotspur chairman Sugar and I locked horns again for a Sky Sports special on the Arsenal/Spurs derby match, and he was thrilled to see me looking just as well nourished as normal.

‘The bet was to LOSE weight, Morgan – not bloody gain it!’ he chortled.

We were asked which player we’d most like to sign from the other team.

‘Piers would go for Dele Alli,’ Sugar smirked. ‘You can tell by all his chins that he loves a good Deli.’


After the appalling mass shooting at a Texas church two weeks ago, I predicted America’s only response would be to demand all church-goers carry guns too.

Viewers thought I’d lost my mind.

Today, an 81-year-old man accidentally shot himself and his wife during a discussion on gun safety inside a church in Tennessee – after forgetting he’d loaded his weapon.

And at another church in Florida, pastors posted a sign outside saying: ‘Welcome to The River At Tampa Bay Church. This is private property. Please know that this is not a gun-free zone. We are heavily armed. Any attempt will be dealt with by deadly force. Yes we are a church and we will protect our people.’

Let us spray!


Jeremy Clarkson has revealed he was nearly killed twice on the M4 in the space of 50 miles as he sat at the wheel of an autonomous, driverless car. He says this was terrifying because the car made potentially lethal ‘mistakes’.

I agree that it’s terrifying, but not for the same reason.

To me, it means we’ve finally reached the moment Professor Stephen Hawking recently warned me would spark the end of the world: robots are now sentient and can make their own intelligent, informed decisions.


My money’s on Stanley Johnson to win I’m A Celebrity… Get Me Out Of Here! if he can control his mouth.

I’ve known Stanley for years and apart from being a very funny guy with the resilience and survival skills to make even Bear Grylls look fragile, it would be fair to say that like his son Boris, he has a tendency to blurt out very unfortunate things.

I was once standing with Newsnight star Emily Maitlis at a Spectator party when he marched up and exclaimed: ‘Emily! I haven’t seen you since the erection!’

There was a long, very uncomfortable pause. ‘I mean… ELECTION!’


I get a lot of mail. Some of it is very nice. Some of it is… not so nice.

‘Dear Piers,’ began one note today, ‘some friends of mine think you are an insufferable bore and bighead. I have always regarded you as a somewhat limited talent, unhindered by self-doubt.’

So far, this qualified as a fairly typical entrant in the ‘not so nice’ category.

‘However,’ it continued, ‘having watched you recently on Good Morning Britain, as I occasionally drift away from Radio 4, I have now formed the opinion that you are not bad at all at this presentation lark. You have the courage to ask the tough questions, say precisely what you think, and I find myself mostly agreeing with you. You break a lot of the rules but as I think Douglas Bader once said, “Rules are for the guidance of wise men and the obedience of fools”, so keep doing it the way you are doing it. I only wish I had had one tenth of your self-confidence and I could have been a contender. Regards, Des Lynam.’

I laughed out loud.

Des, for my money, is one of Britain’s finest ever broadcasters; a charming, sharply intelligent man who’s always made it look supremely easy.

He also has a unique ability, as his note confirms, to puncture over-inflated egos by damning with faint praise!