Sunday breakfast? I don’t partake in breakfast much. The kids have porridge on a school day, but help themselves to rubbish cereal at the weekend. I play tunes in the background, annoying the kids, because we don’t have the same taste in music. Sundays growing up? I grew up in Arklow in County Wicklow, in a house with no central heating. We’d have two fireplaces going on a Sunday, which made things more homely. I remember watching Wonder Woman with Lynda Carter. I’d be in heaven with a yoghurt and a biscuit and Wonder Woman. Sunday lunch? My fella [music producer Sebastiano Properzi] is Italian, so we eat quite posh – veal Milanese, scallopini, pork roast with curled milk gravy. He’s a good cook, bless him. He’s good at a couple of things, if you know what I mean. Sunday worship? My father was vehemently atheist and my mother couldn’t give a God’s curse, although I still went to a Catholic school. The headteacher’s wife – Mrs Garvy – would come in every Monday and say: ‘Children, did you go to mass yesterday?’ I’d put my hand up and she’d say: ‘Róisín Murphy, did you really go to mass yesterday?’ and I’d get into trouble even though it was my parents’ fault. Sunday afternoon? I live in Ibiza, so I’ll definitely go for a walk, but I dance when I’m walking. I’m like a mad woman, dancing to my Spotify playlists. I love skipping down hills and never run. Sunday wind down? I loved The North Water on the BBC, about a whale fishing expedition back in the day. Colin Farrell is brilliant in it. Sunday evening? We’ll probably just pile into bed at 9.30 or 10 and read. At the moment I’m reading Why Germans Do It Better by John Kampfner. It’s a very interesting historical study. Look forward to or dread Mondays? I have no feeling about Mondays. It’s the same as every other day. You can have a good Monday or you can have a bad one.