I guess it takes a mad racist to know racist madness, Bette Midler

SUNDAY, AUGUST 23

My summer holiday in St Tropez, which began painfully when I badly sprained my ankle on the first night, ended even more aggravatingly when we were burgled in our villa on the last night.

The thieves, who I suspect recce’d us with a drone that mysteriously flew over the property a few days previously, stole a load of cash and my wife Celia’s jewellery, having prowled around the bedroom as we slept.

It felt horribly invasive but could have been much worse.

Today, a London Flying Squad detective contacted me to say members of his own family were robbed the same week in nearby Cannes after thieves pumped noxious sleeping gas into the air-con system of their holiday home, rendering an adult couple unconscious as their three-month-old baby lay in the same room, and then cleaned them out of their valuables.

He thinks it may have been the same well-organised criminal gang that targeted us, and fears the French cops are too understaffed to deal with a growing problem along the Riviera.

‘Please make people aware of this,’ he requested.

Given the large number of other people, from media tycoons to pop stars, who’ve told me they suffered break-ins down there too, I’m very happy to do so.

One positive from the holiday was that I managed to get back to the UK precisely one hour before the Government announced its 14-day quarantine on anyone returning from France.

Or as Have I Got News For You put it on Twitter: ‘Public anger at sudden introduction of French quarantine after Piers Morgan reveals it’s forced him to return to the UK.’

MONDAY AUGUST 24

Meghan Markle has flagrantly breached royal protocol by urging Americans to vote against President Trump in the forthcoming US election, telling an online event it’s the ‘change we all need and deserve’.

I tweeted that she and Prince Harry should have their Duke and Duchess of Sussex titles removed by the Queen – then they can be as politically partisan as they want without damaging the impartial integrity of the monarchy.

‘Oh f*** off,’ spat back Bette Midler, singing legend turned foul-mouthed social media troll. She then retweeted a British TV historian, Professor Kate Williams, who said my criticism was ‘racist madness’.

Of course, my irritation at Duchess Meghan’s political rhetoric has nothing to do with her skin colour but – as I address in my new book, Wake Up, published on October 15 – this is now the catch-all defence by ‘woke’ liberals to any criticism of anything she does.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 26

It’s the Republican convention in America this week and Bette Midler has spent the entire time branding all the speakers racists.

Tonight, Melania Trump made a speech and Midler erupted again.

‘Get that illegal alien off the stage!’ she tweet-raged about the Slovenian-born First Lady. ‘Oh, God. She still can’t speak English.’

I guess it takes a mad racist to know racist madness when she sees it.

THURSDAY, AUGUST 27

I took part in a speed-awareness course today, after being caught doing 46mph in a 40mph zone.

Because of Covid they’re all being done online in a Zoom-style session (ironically!).

So, in an effort to preserve a modicum of anonymity, I deployed my middle name ‘Stefan’ as my on-screen user moniker, only for office colleagues of another participant to spot me instantly and roar with laughter, saying: ‘You’re not kidding us, Piersy!’

My cover blown, I remained unusually silent for the next tortuously tedious two-and-a-half-hours, apart from proffering a couple of monosyllabic responses to questions from our glorified traffic-warden instructor.

Sadly, some of my fellow virtual miscreants – two were lying on their beds, one was in Dubai, and another pair disappeared after the half-time break suffering from ‘technical issues’ – were far keener either to treat it like Mastermind by excitedly answering everything, or by boring us all to tears with their lengthy driving experiences.

By the end, I almost wish I’d taken the three points.

SUNDAY, AUGUST 30

Simon Cowell is missing the Britain’s Got Talent semi-final shows that started tonight, after breaking his back falling off a high-powered electric bike at his Malibu home.

My first thought when I heard about the accident was genuine concern for my old mate, who should have stuck to the Zimmer frame that I bought him for his 60th birthday last year.

My second thought, seconds later, was that there was now a vacancy for head judge on BGT, a role I performed for many years on the American version. Amusingly, I was quickly sounded out to see if I was potentially available but had to explain that if I was confined to the same close quarters as that insufferable twerp David Walliams, it wouldn’t end well. (‘Congratulations, David! You’re getting four punches and will be through to the nearest casualty unit!’)

My third thought was the memory of how Simon reacted when I fell off a Segway on Santa Monica beach in 2007, breaking five ribs and collapsing a lung.

It happened just days before the AGT finale, and he rang me hysterical with laughter to say: ‘Hi Piers, I just want to reassure you that I’ve ordered six extra cameras to capture you screaming in pain!’

I chuckled, which antagonised my ribs and caused me to gasp in agony.

‘It’s killing you to laugh, isn’t it!’ Simon cackled joyfully. ‘Hilarious!’

He then went on Steve Wright’s Radio 2 show and urged the public to make me laugh if they saw me because ‘it causes Piers absolute agony’ – which is exactly what they did when I got back to London.

So my sympathy valves for Mr Cowell’s current predicament remain tightly closed.

Though I can confirm one silver lining to his injury: he’s abandoned his vegan diet.

‘Yup! It’s true,’ Simon’s girlfriend Lauren told me. ‘I’ve told him he needs more protein. So we are back to roast dinners and cottage pie.’ Almost worth breaking a back for.