THAT'S IT I'M HOFF

Poor The Hoff. Divorce proceedings, being filmed by his kids lying topless on the kitchen floor and failing to eat a burger and now he's realised that his career is deader than disco. Who to blame? Well, not himself, obviously. It must be that damn agent's fault!

Hence the scene in the Polo Lounge restaurant in Beverly Hills last week when the assembled diners were treated to the sight of David ranting and foaming at the mouth like a busted fridge. That taut face, which usually looks like an old leather sofa, began to resemble an old red leather sofa as the agent shook under the barrage of insults.

Which the New York Post failed to list, quoting a nameless diner instead saying:

"It was amazing. Everyone could hear that he was in a bad mood and complaining bitterly about the sort of jobs he has been offered lately. The fact that he was having a huge tantrum was bad enough, but when he just got up and stormed out everyone was sitting there open-mouthed."

Open-mouthed? In a restaurant you say? Whatever next, people being wide-eyed at the cinema? What David really needs now is to re-unite with KITT, his talking electronic car, and heed the camp-voiced motor every time he attempts to leave the garage and is told "I wouldn't advise that, Michael. Or David."

And while we're here, why don't we re-run the fun off the Hoff and that burger...