David Hasselhoff used to have it all. The car that could talk, the hair that even made women jealous. Not to mention his smash hit drama series about disturbed young lifeguards trying to make it through life, without falling foul of the hideous daily flashbacks of having to hoik limp, dripping bodies from an angry ocean, or breathe air from their own beautiful lungs into the dribbling mouth of an old lady who thought she’d take up surfing. Damn it, the man made these sea police beautiful again!

Unfortunately, like Achilles with his rotten heel, The Hoff has a weakness – mainly being that he can’t resist throwing back a few sweet shots of the strong stuff, and making a complete tit of himself. It’s a symptom of his massive celebrity, some might argue. But then again, perhaps not? After all, how would those very same people explain the smelly demise of street people, slurping cooking sherry from bins? Were they once famous? No they were not. They just couldn’t resist the tempting aroma of a cheap head-rush.