Henry gets me up. He’s a long-haired miniature dachshund and he starts licking my face as if to say: “Hey, Hoff, I need to get out and do my business.” But sometimes it’s the sound of Vanilla — I’ve never known a dog with such a snore. He’s a cocker spaniel. Then there’s Sadie, an irish setter, and Harley, who’s bow-legged. By 6.30 they’re all on the lawn while I’m heating a cup of stale coffee in the microwave. I’m often chatting to Peaches, my umbrella cockatoo, when Isabel walks in the door. She’s been my maid for years and she’ll make me fresh coffee and a couple of burritos with sausage, egg, bacon and beans. Or maybe a healthier version with egg whites, potato and broccoli.

I’ve just moved back into the LA house I owned with my ex, Pamela. I was a bit shocked when I first walked in, because it was totally empty. I had to get my assistant, Joe B, a 300lb Hispanic who runs the Pasadena Mexican mafia — just joking — to sort things out. So now it’s like little Mexico — he brings over all of his friends, relatives and kids to paint and put things in, which is no mean feat, because this place is like the White House. There are seven bedrooms, two guesthouses, tennis courts and two acres. Once I’ve chatted to him I’ll stick on a white shirt, jeans and leather jacket. I’m 56, but I like to look young — the right clothing makes me feel hip.

Then I’ll take the dogs in the car for a proper run. I’ve got a 1952 Buick, a 1960 Mercedes 190SL, a 1965 Mustang and a 1993 convertible Mercedes. Then there’s the Harley-Davidson. But I usually get out the Escalade — it’s gigantic. Then I’ll go see Dad. He’s 83, lives in assisted housing and still calls me Tiger. He and Mom were married for 59 years, but Mom just passed away, so we’re still raw. If we talk about her, the tears start. She was the first person to say to me: “You’ve got it, son.” By the time I was seven she was taking me to every acting and singing class in town. She almost died three years ago, but we willed her back to life. Then, after a series of strokes, she deteriorated again and was on life support. All she could do was blink one eye. We knew we had to let her go. But we were by her side. We held her hand until the end. It was tough. That’s why I’m a little pensive these days.

On the way back to the house I’ll grab a bit of sushi or have a power lunch among the paparazzi at the Ivy or the Grove and then get to work on one of my projects. I’m doing various things — a pop-opera album, a film script and a fly-on-the wall TV documentary series called The Hoff: When Scott Came To Stay. I’m also a judge on America’s Got Talent and I’ve got a show in Vegas in which I re-enact all my roles, from Knight Rider and Baywatch to Chicago. There’s also a fun section called Baby Take Your Dress Off, which always appeals to girls out getting hammered on hen nights, and one of my prizes is a Don’t Hassel the Hoff shirt.

If I’m home for the evening, I might barbecue a steak or heat a dish in the microwave — I still can’t figure out how to work the oven. My two teenage girls, Taylor-Ann and Hayley, divide their time between their mom and me, so one of them might join me. They both sing and want me to promote them, but I tell them I’m too busy promoting myself. Having said that, I’ve got an idea for a TV series with them. We could call it The Hoff-father and the Hoffspring. In the meantime, I’m always on the phone to them because they’re either out too late or spending too much of my money — they forget I’ve got bills and alimony to pay.

But they worry about me too. They’ve seen me when I’m not well — they cry, they put their arms around me, they tell me they love me. I suppose in the last three years I’ve spent more time on my own than ever before, because I always used to have a family, somebody to come home to. I’m finally adjusting, but there’s still times when I become a little too isolated. And that’s not good — it plays on the negative — so I make myself go out.

I suppose my biggest strength is that when I’m pushed up against the wall, I’m a fighter, I’m an optimist. So while parts of my life still get exploited by the press, and while blatant, unadulterated lies and garbage get told about me, I know that it comes with the territory. And I know that the upshot of the bad stuff is the good stuff, and being allowed to do just about whatever I want.

Last thing at night I’ll say prayers for the protection of my children, my parents and my sobriety. I’ll also say the serenity prayer: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change — which is the death of my mother; the courage to change the things I can — which is me; and the wisdom to know the difference. And then I let go, I drift off, I let God take control.

The Hoff: When Scott Came To Stay starts on Living on April 6

Interview by Ria Higgins. Photograph by Will Sanders

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