Early riser? If my little peepers open and I catch a glimpse of light, I’m up. In summer, it’s 5am. Coffee is essential, then I’d probably go into the garden. It’s like stolen time. You think: ‘I’ll just get the secateurs…’ What’s next? A pungent bath. My favourite’s Molton Brown – a black pepper fragrance with a bit of verve. I hope I’ll absorb some of that verve. If I’ve done too much gardening, it’ll be Epsom salts. Breakfast? With my partner, David. We have brunch: smoked salmon and scramblies or eggs Florentine. Sunday soundtrack? Radio Three mostly. Just before 8am, they play bells: church bells, cow bells, goat bells. And they have Sounds of the Earth. That can be birds, rutting deer, frogs in a pond. Glorious. I like Private Passions, too, and, on Radio 4, Desert Island Discs. Out and about? We might have a walk, but if it’s a good day, I’ll be upside down at the back of the border having a tweak. I love clematis and roses. Gardening’s an act of hope. I love to watch a mucky bit of soil sprout something that’ll give perfume and pleasure. I don’t have children, so it’s part of my nurturing. Later? At 4pm, there’s Jazz Record Requests and we often settle down to a cryptic crossword. We might listen to some Spanish music. I wouldn’t call it a paso doblé, but we enjoy a prance around the living room. And the evening? Chicken with roast potatoes and lots of greens. We’ll watch telly or listen to jazz. We might read a bit: a friend gave me, because of my Midsomer character Fleur, The Seven Ages of Death by forensic pathologist Dr Richard Shepherd. Fascinating. Bedtime? I’ll put out the light at half 10 or 11 and begin the struggle to sleep. Or I fall asleep immediately and, an hour later, I’m awake. Memorable Sunday? Flying a Spitfire. I won it in a raffle for The Memorial to the Few. We were at Biggin Hill, so I got terribly upset as we taxied along, thinking of all the young men who’d flown from there and never come back. Then, it was utterly magical. We did a victory roll. I took control, too. I was beside myself. Exhausted.