Donald Trump is my old friend – but he’s lost the plot

Also this week: free breakfasts at the BBC, and being humiliated by Manchester City fans

Trump and Morgan photographed together in 2010. Photo by Mathew Imaging/WireImage

“Do you think he has a clue what he’s trying to achieve in the Middle East?” Laura Kuenssberg asked me about President Trump when I appeared on her Sunday show on 15 March. I’m sure she expected me to proffer some kind of defence of what the hell my old friend is doing in Iran.

Instead, I responded simply: “No.” In fact, I witnessed a more coherent plan of attack from Arsenal in the Carabao Cup final as we were beaten 2-0 by Manchester City the following week. I can usually locate logic behind Trump’s big moves, even if his incendiary and contradictory rhetoric often mars the message. But on this, I’ve got nothing.

Why would a man who campaigned on keeping America out of ruinous Middle Eastern wars, and reviving the US economy, launch the biggest Middle Eastern war imaginable, with its inevitable disastrous economic impact, just months before the US midterm elections? None of it makes any sense, other than – I fear – Trump got carried away by his quick, successful decapitation of Venezuela’s regime leadership and wrongly assumed he could do the same in Iran. And that he got persuaded into it by Benjamin Netanyahu, whose domestic popularity and avoidance of his criminal corruption trial seems to be governed by how many places Israel bombs.

Whatever the reason, it’s spiralling into a global crisis that threatens to ruin Trump’s presidency, and legacy, and flies in the face of his own cardinal rule. “You’ve gotta win,” he once told me. “Muhammad Ali used to talk and talk, but he won. If you talk and talk but you lose, the act doesn’t play.” This act isn’t playing, Mr President. Time to get off the Iran stage.

BBC Breakfast

A perk of appearing on Kuenssberg is the breakfast afterwards hosted by Laura in the BBC canteen, during which the debate often gets much livelier than what occurs on camera. Amusingly, you sit down to find a large, school-like form to fill in your dietary requests. I invariably tick everything, not because I like to eat gigantic breakfasts, but because it’s all free. I’ve worked out that the same eggs, bacon, sausage, beans, tomato, hash browns, coffee, tea, orange juice and toast would cost me £30 at my local café. The BBC licence fee rises to £180 on 1 April. So, I need only do the show six times a year to get my money back.

Memento Morgi

Laura introduced me to viewers as “broadcaster and mischief-maker Piers Morgan”, which I’d happily take as an epitaph. I’ve been thinking more about mortality since tumbling over a step in January, fracturing my femur and requiring a new hip, not least because falls – particularly hip-fracturing ones – are a leading cause of death for over-65s, and I’m 61 on 30 March.

One thing more likely to bring about my imminent demise is Arsenal choking yet another Premier League trophy following our dismal performance on Sunday 22 March.

“I’m beginning to think we could actually win the title,” I texted fellow die-hard Gooner Keir Starmer, in November 2022.

“You’re as bad as my shadow cabinet!” he replied. “Feet on the ground, step by step and we’ll get there.”

We came second that season, and the next, and the next. Three times a bridesmaid, never a bride. Of course, Labour came second in four consecutive elections until Starmer finally led them to victory. Surely, given we’re nine points ahead with seven games left, we’re not going to have to wait another year before walking down the aisle? Just the thought of it is provoking life-threatening rises in my blood pressure. As does the thought of winning it this season, only to then self-implode as rapidly and badly as Labour now has under Starmer.

Cruel fate

I didn’t think anything could be more painful than breaking a femur, but leaving my Wembley seat to chants of “We can see you hobbling out!” from jubilant City fans came close. As did being sledged by Domino’s Pizza, which posted “Piers Morgan has exploded” on X seconds after the final whistle, prompting worried family to ask if Iran’s ballistic missiles had indeed reached London. “We played like your pizzas,” I retorted, “stale, boring and unappetising.”

Holding court, or caught short?

I still can’t cross my legs post-surgery. But sitting near Ed Miliband on Kuenssberg, I noticed the Energy Secretary’s started doing this a lot, smugly, after making what he thinks is a winning point. Trust me, Ed, it doesn’t make you look more statesmanlike, it just makes me think you have a weak bladder.

“Piers Morgan Uncensored” is available on YouTube

[Further reading: Liz Truss is plotting her comeback]