Sunday mornings? I recently bought this book called Morning Miracles. It’s all about getting up 90 minutes earlier for journalling, exercise, meditation and breathing. When I started, I felt like a CEO; I told everyone about how life changing it was. Day six, I binned it off, and have never looked back. What do you do instead? I get up around 8am, then I go and see my two cats: I follow them around, trying to snuggle, to let them know they’re loved. Sunday workout? I’m back into fitness now – a swim at the lido or some yoga. Sometimes I go to a gymnastics class. I’m no natural, and have been trying to master a front-flip for longer than I can remember. What’s for lunch? I love a roast. A friend invited a few of us round for Sunday lunch the other week. I got there, and she’d just made a normal meal. Lunch-on-a-Sunday is not Sunday lunch. I was livid. Feed me vegan Yorkshire puddings and I’ll squeal in delight like a piggy. Sundays growing up? If Dad picked us up, he’d take us to the Toby Carvery. There’s nothing wrong with a Toby Carvery… but also there is? Else we watched telly. Families weren’t so child-focused. We might have gone to a castle once with a sandwich, but that was it. The dream day? Write some really good jokes; a cold-water swim; meet friends at a fireside pub table for games: Bananagrams, Scrabble. And then, ideally, someone would tuck me in. Last thing at night? I fiddle myself silly… No, that’s not true. I’ve just started face yoga, thanks for noticing. I don’t want to go under the knife, so with this you pinch your cheeks and nose like a nutter to keep yourself looking young.