When my eldest, Don, leaves the house at 7 to go to work, he always trips the burglar alarm, which throws me out of bed. We live in a gated community, with a back yard looking out over the Wasatch mountain range. If the house alarm doesn’t get me, I’m woken by the sun coming over the peak of the mountains.

I pre-record TV programmes on TiVo so I can watch the Today show while I’m eating my cereal. That’s kind of a ritual. I like to load myself with humour, facts, all kinds of interesting stuff before I start my day, but I leave breakfast to my wife. I’m capable of burning water. That’s from years of being on the road, when my idea of cooking was ordering room service.

Home is a very protected environment for me. It’s a part of my life that has to be private, because it was once so invaded. When I’m on the road it’s different — I’ve never been one to shun fans because, excuse me, they were the ones who got you there in the first place. I suffered from social anxiety disorder for years, and having Debbie and a stable home life was the only thing that kept me sane.

My twenties were awful. The worst time of my life. One minute you’re selling out stadiums, the next you’re a joke and it’s embarrassing to go out in public. I had some ghastly experiences. I thought everyone was laughing at me. They probably were. Even if they weren’t, I derided myself constantly. It’s inevitable when you’ve had a teenybopper career.

All the screaming and adulation was pretty darn exciting at the time. But as I grew up, I hated what I was. I started wearing torn jeans, I didn’t shave… My publicist even put together a campaign to get me busted for drugs to dirty up my image. I almost went for it. Then I thought: “Hang on, I may have been told what to do and what to sing, but the bottom line is, I did it. I got up there and wore those clothes and sang those songs. I might as well embrace it and own it.”

All the Osmond jump suits disappeared into a landfill somewhere, but down in our basement we have a life-size poster of me in the most cheesy outfit ever. I’m wearing a purple, sequined top hat, which even in our heyday was terrible. One of my kids found a box of Donny and Marie T-shirts, and he said: “Hey, Dad, can I wear one of these to high school?” And I said: “Sure, if you want to get beaten up.”

In the morning I get to work in my basement studio. I like it small because everything’s at my fingertips — all my hard drives, databases. I designed and built the rig myself. I’m a closet geek.

Every two weeks we have someone come in to clean, but other than that we have no help. My wife and I are pretty strict. We didn’t want to raise lazy kids — they’re a liability. Last night while I mowed the lawn, Brandon, my 23-year-old, edged, and Christopher, the 16-year-old, cleaned up around the pool. They’re good boys. My wife’s still got all these girlie baby clothes in her “hope chest”. Actually now she calls it her “hopeless chest”. We’re just waiting for a granddaughter.

I’m extremely health-conscious. Absolutely no alcohol, tea or coffee, and I’ve never smoked. On the other hand, if you put a tub of Häagan Dazs in front of me, I’ll eat the lot. I’m like: “Come on. Hurt me!” Most days I’ll have a sandwich for lunch — which my wife doesn’t make. If I expected her to wait on me, she’d probably say: “Go find another wife.”

I think my [Mormon] religion protected me when I was younger from a side of life that was a dead end. I have a very, very strong marriage. Debbie’s the only one I’ve been with and our relationship is precious to us because of that. We’ve had arguments over the years, but we never remember what they were about.

If I’m working on a project, I’ll go to the pool house, which is beautiful, with lots of windows. Or I can be found fixing something. I find it hard to shut my mind off. But I’ve closed the door on anxiety, because it doesn’t really matter to me now what people think. There were times, when I was playing Joseph on Broadway in the ’90s, when I would walk out on stage knowing I would die. I thought my heart would stop. Emotionally, I’m in the best place I’ve ever been. Fifty’s fine. Bring it on. I had Botox once, but never again. The Osmond smile went away!

It’s not like it used to be with my brothers. When you have your own family, you’re so consumed with your children, you don’t talk as much as you’d like. Evenings are hectic. I still have to sit on the youngest to make sure they get homework done. While I’m doing that, my wife’s doing dinner — talking on the phone or watching TV is not an option.

I always stay up late. I read or I’ll watch TiVo again — I love British comedy shows like Graham Norton. My favourite was The Kumars. I went on a while back and Grandma and I started singing Crazy Horses. She grabbed me and pinched my butt and we started rolling about on the floor — it was very provocative. I had letters from Mormons saying: “What did you think you were doing?”

I wear nothing in bed. I can’t wear pyjamas. And I can’t stand silk sheets, too slippy — although that can be good sometimes. But we have a little nine-year-old who still creeps into our bed when he’s not feeling well. According to my wife, I kick and I toss and turn. But I don’t remember anything. I always have my BlackBerry by my bed to jot down ideas and schedules before I go to sleep. If I can put things down, I eliminate the worry from my mind, so when I finally hit the pillow, it’s pretty hard.

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