What time are you up? I’m usually awake by 6am, with my sausage dog’s nose pressed against me; we sleep arm-in-paw. I recently moved house and painted my bedroom pink with pictures of Marilyn Monroe on the walls, because I’m single so I can. I light the fire, incense and candles. Sensory satisfaction is all at this stage in life.
A morning routine? After 15 mind-calming minutes of Vipassanā yogic meditation, awakening my kundalini, I feel cleansed and calmer. Things are still, if only briefly. Then I chuck on my tracksuit and take the dog to the park while it’s quiet out.
Sundays growing up… Were lively. My parents separated: Mum ended up having five girls, and Dad five boys. In London, it was sisterly love and squeezing into shared bedrooms, tagging along with Mum at the market-stalls she worked on. Up north with my dad, it was all footballs and total chaos with the lads.
A special Sunday? Any day spent with my four (now grown-up) children under my roof. They all pile into the bed with me: Rudy sucking his thumb, Iris chatting away, Raff doing back flips and Finlay reciting Shakespeare. I miss waking up and all of us being together. It’s so frustrating that they’re grownups, I can’t wait for grandkids to come along.
Do you work? I might read a script or write; on Sunday mornings I try to focus on more creative parts of my job, then I’ll do some prep for the week ahead. Once that’s done, my next task is finding a good vegetarian pub roast. I rarely drink, but might treat myself to a glass of red.
And Sunday night? I’ve been going to the Hampstead Everyman since the 1970s, there’s nothing better than settling down there for a cinema night. Or, we’ll settle at home with whatever football is on, as is life when you’re the mother of three boys. Honestly? I’ll happily watch any game with them, if it means they’re around.
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