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The Week According To Piers Morgan

This week, Piers Morgan gives Shania Twain twenty questions, worries that someone has died on the 'America's got Talent' set and turns nauseous at being asked if he would rather sleep with Cherie Blair or Hillary Clinton

Daily Mail - UK
May 26, 2007

Saturday, May 12

There are various things that I have curiously avoided doing in my life: meeting David Beckham, skiing and going to Las Vegas.

Today, I removed Vegas from the list by flying to the great desert gambling oasis for the bootcamp stage of America’s Got Talent.

As I sat in my Virgin Upper Class seat (relax, that’s not a plug for a freebie; I booked late, they’re the only ones who fly direct, and it cost me an utterly obscene £7,000 - something I will be ‘discussing’ with Mr Branson next time I see him), I spotted an enormous fat bloke waddling towards me and thought: "Please God, not him."

There’s nothing worse than sitting next to a heaving heffalump on an 11-hour flight, not least because they eat all the best food.

To my delight he swerved right at the last minute, and a radiantly beautiful brunette arrived at my side instead.

I nodded and said hello, she smiled sweetly and did the same – revealing a world-class set of gnashers to go with the obviously expensive clothes and stunning array of jewellery. She was, I guessed, in her mid-thirties, extremely friendly, and we chatted away about the kind of trivial stuff you talk about to strangers on planes.

After a couple of hours she went to sleep and I went to the bar, where one of the stewardesses said: "You seem to be getting on well with Shania."

"Shania?" There’s only one Shania I know in the world - and that’s the singing and songwriting superstar Ms Twain, who has five Grammies and the biggest-selling album ever by a female artist to her credit.

"It’s not…" I said.

"It is…" the stewardess replied. "She’s going to the big country music awards in Vegas." The only thing that consoled me was the thought that Shania would feel even worse when she realised who she had been sitting next to.

When she woke, I affected casual nonchalance, as if I had known all along. And then I bombarded her with all the questions a crazed fan would ask.

1) "So Shania, tell me - do you write your best stuff when you’re happy or miserable?" "Oh, miserable, definitely. Or bored. When I’m happy I can’t write at all because I fill my days with other stuff."

2) "Do you prefer writing or performing?" "I love my concerts. It’s like I’m a mum feeding her hungry children, there’s so much emotion out there."

3) "What’s your favourite of your own songs?" "I’m Jealous." "And were you?" "Very." "What’s your husband’s?" "You’re Still The One." "And is he?" "Yes."

4) "Favourite other artists?" "Sting. And Supertramp…"

"Oh my God," I interrupted, "Breakfast In America is one of my all-time favourite albums." We looked at each with new mutual admiration.

5) "Don’t you hate being so squeaky-clean?" "I’m not." Big naughty grin.

"I see." I turned to the stewardess.

"More wine, please. For both of us." Eventually, she turned the inquisition on to me. "So what do you do?" "Oh, I judge dancing cows and rapping grannies with David Hasselhoff." She giggled.

"No, I really do. On a show called America’s Got Talent." "Oh, hang on, I know that show. You’re the mean Brit, right?"

"The very same." We had reconnected on to a new double A-list celebrity level.

The plane landed. "Where are your awards?" I asked, as we queued with other passengers for the exit.

"Oh, I keep them all in a box at home," she replied.

"No, I meant where is the awards ceremony you’re attending in Vegas?" Everyone around us burst out laughing, including an embarrassed Shania. "Ah, I see, sorry…"

"I keep my awards on the loo wall," I said, to ease her blushes.

"What have you won?" "Oh, I used to edit newspapers, and I once got an award for The Least Constructive Contribution to Anglo-German Relations when I printed a front-page headline entitled “Achtung Surrender!” in the middle of a soccer tournament."

Shania stared at me, utterly bemused. "Well… congratulations. My husband is half- German. Goodbye Piers."

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