How does Sunday start? My kids play rugby and we need to leave the house by 9.30am. My body and brain resent having to do stuff on a Sunday that’s similar to the school run, so I’ll take every last minute in bed, and get up at 9.15am. I don’t drive, so we get lifts or taxis, which means packing spare clothes and plastic bags so they’re not too filthy getting into anyone else’s car. What’s the rugby like? It’s a labour-intensive operation. My son’s 11, my daughter’s seven, so they play on different pitches that are often far apart. Trying to watch and encourage them both, and make sure neither of them goes missing, means shuttling endlessly between the two. What’s for lunch? I’ve not got enough about me to put a Sunday roast together. My equivalent is taking the kids for a pub roast. It gives me the feeling I’m carrying on something my parents did for me – though they toiled and I just throw money at it. A special Sunday? I was playing at Sydney Opera House one Saturday night and my mum turned up out of the blue. My parents aren’t extravagant or spontaneous, but it was early in my career and there was no knowing if I’d do anything like that again. I was so thrown I couldn’t concentrate – I had to tell the audience. The next day we had brunch in Darling Harbour. It was such a thrill to see her. Sundays growing up? I was in a church choir between the age of eight and 12. I liked being at the front, bossing the hymns. We’d sing at weddings and I’d get £3. Sunday evenings? I’ll go for a run to unwind – it clears my brain. There’s a running track where I live, and I’ve started taking the kids. It sounds like something a mad PE teacher parent would do, but they like the novelty of being on a proper track, and I can exercise while they run around.