Piers Morgan's guide to fleeing a sinking ship

READY to put some distance between yourself and the shitstorm you enabled? Let me Piers Morgan, the irritant in Susanna Reid’s peripheral vision, tell you how:

Apologise for your own naivety

It’s always good to non-apologise by stressing your own good qualities. You were trusting, you believed the best of people, you were let down; all delivered with the faux contrition of a schoolkid caught watching Babestation. How were you to know there would be icebergs when you encouraged the captain to go at full speed?

Stress your personal dilemma

What kind of monster would you be if you turned your back on a friend? An old friend from Celebrity Apprentice season one in 2008? Even though you knew full well that he was mental, not remotely up to the job, and would gleefully invite disaster so he could wear the captain’s hat?

Fight back hard

Now you’ve changed your mind nobody’s harder on your old pal, who you once grovelled to and gave a personalised Arsenal shirt, than you. He should never have been allowed to steer the ship. You cannot believe the ship is sinking. Everyone should listen as you guide them to the lifeboats.

Give the bad thing you supported a mean nickname

Ignore the fact that Trump the Terrible is the kind of moronic name he gives people on Twitter, which he loved just like you do, because you’re similar on some fundamental level and you’d probably incite nutjobs to storm Good Morning Britain if you were fired. The ship is sinking! Quick!

Start ripping into something new

Once safely fleeing the scene, create a diversion by ferociously debating other hot button issues. Look everyone, Meghan and Harry have got a fancier lifeboat than you! That woke bitch, who was right about Trump all along, is where we should direct our rage now! And she’s probably vegan.

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Identifying trees, and five other activities for your middle-class lockdown exercise

WANT strangers in the park to know you’re going home to a house with a chalkboard in the kitchen? Do these key activities during your mandated hour of exercise:

Identifying trees

Only those with dangerously high levels of Boden in their bloodstreams would drag their children away from the PS5 to argue over the texture of f**king bark. Don’t forget your laminated print-out from the National Trust website and your patterned wellies.

Scavenger hunts

With the challenge of tracking down organic fusilli in Waitrose a thing of lockdowns past, you’ll have to invent new trials for your darling offspring. Ask them to find something twee like an acorn, or, if you’re urban, any graffiti that’s in a Street Art book.

Strolling around graveyards

Lockdown can be a time to reckon with big questions, and you can assume that your seven-year-old is already capable of solemn reflection because he’s so advanced. Blend exercise with learning by challenging them to work out how old the pauper they’re trampling over was when he kicked the bucket.

Fell running

Running on a flat surface is for trashy people who can’t afford Bupa. Think how envious your pompous friends will be when you break your ankle in a real rabbit hole. You’ll sound like you’ve just emerged from a Jane Austen book — and you’re currently rereading her, as luck would have it.

Wild swimming

No need to invest in a £250 wetsuit if you haven’t already got one, though you did take that naughty little trip to the Maldives before Christmas. Whatever the temperature, your smugness will keep you warm.

Family bike rides

Though the children struggle to keep up with your Lycra-assisted pace, you’ll slow down in case the Town & Country paparazzi are about. Parading your family down the road in matching North Face gilets will certainly give your neighbours something new to bitch about over their artisanal muesli.

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