Thursday, January 3 The Celebrity Apprentice started airing in America tonight, and runs for the next three months on prime-time NBC. The upshot of which will be that I am either the most reviled man in America by the end of it or the most respected. (And I wouldn't race to put your money on the latter) If you're wondering why I wanted to do this show, then let me repeat for you the opening words of Donald Trump to the American nation watching at home: "We've brought together 14 of the most successful celebrities in the world?" Couldn't have put it better myself, Donald old son.
The first challenge was a simple one, to run a hot-dog stand on the streets of New York. The teams were split into boys and girls, and I knew we'd win within about an hour when Kiss rock legend Gene Simmons interrupted our debate about whether to charge $10 or $100 for our dogs by calling up a rich mate and asking him to come and buy one for $5,000. "It's not the vacuum cleaner that gets sold," he explained, "it's the way the salesman sells the cleaner." Which when you consider that he has sold 13 million Kiss musical toothbrushes, is probably true.
Simmons, whose "hair" sits like a large black wire brush on his head, is an extraordinary character , highly intelligent, wonderfully arrogant and prone to endless history lessons that are often completely wrong. For example, on choosing our team's name, Hydra, he informed us all: "It was a mythical, savage, three-headed dog that guarded the gates of hell." (To which Vinnie Pastore, "Big Pussy" from The Sopranos, observed: "No, that was my ex-wife.") In fact, as I pointed out to Gene's obvious irritation, Hydra was a seven-headed monster that fought Hercules. He was thinking of Cerberus.
My job on the task was to use a megaphone and encourage grim-faced New Yorkers to buy hot dogs, matching their "get outta my freakin' way" rudeness with my own: "There goes the meanest man in New York, ladies and gentlemen." Which nearly got me several smacks, but was very satisfying. By hilarious irony, our pitch was right outside Rupert Murdoch's News Corporation HQ in Manhattan, and he was there that day with Tony Blair. I imagined them sitting there saying, "I wonder what our old mate Piers is doing now?" Then looking outside and seeing me flogging hot dogs.
When we got back to the boardroom, it was revealed that we had absolutely murdered the girls' team by raising $52,000 for charity to their $17,000. An astonishing sum for a few sausages. Unedifying scenes then followed as a quite ghastly creature called Omarosa Manigault-Stallworth (think a black version of Jade Goody and Katie Hopkins combined) fought to avoid being fired by abusing everyone else. Her only claim to fame is that she was voted "Biggest Bitch on TV" after her performance on the first series of The Apprentice. And we could all see why.
I knew Omarosa and I were going to be uneasy bedfellows when, as we waited at the New York Mercantile Exchange to be given the challenge, she sidled up to me and said, quite seriously: "Do you want a showmance?" "A what?" "A showmance. You know, we get it on together. Happens all the time on Apprentice. Everyone has sex together." I stared at her grasping, ferociously ambitious little eyes, and laughed: "You must be joking." She didn't take it well. "What are you? Gay?"
In the boardroom, things got nastier. "I know you're a celebrity, Omarosa, I've just never heard of you," I said. "Well, I've heard of you, and you've been fired from every job you've ever had," she shouted back, which was harsh but nearly true. Later, as my team celebrated with champagne, she continued her ranting. "You're a disgusting drunk!" she screeched. (All Brits are automatically deemed drunks in America if they consume more than two glasses of wine.) "You're mixing it with the big boys now, dear," I said, "and it ain't gonna be pretty." And trust me, it ain't? as future episodes will confirm.