Up early or lie-in? My husband, Paul, is up and out coaching for the local rugby team; I’m not an early riser. The cats get me up about 9.30am by tapping my face. First thing you do? I walk around the garden in bare feet. Then I’m on feeding duties. As well as the cats, we’ve got horses, sheep, rescue dogs, ducks and angry geese. I wander with my coffee and say good morning to them all. Breakfast? I only eat breakfast on holiday. I have wholemeal toast around lunchtime, but don’t eat properly until around 6pm. Sunday morning? I see my sister, Gail, who lives 20 minutes away – close, but not too close. I keep horses there so we go out for a ride, then I treat myself to an oat-milk latte and we have a chat. Sunday afternoon? I’ll have a fiddle around in the garden. I don’t pretend I look after it particularly well because we have a gardener and he should take all the glory when people say, ‘Oh, how lovely.’ Then Paul and I walk our five dogs as a group before I take them out one by one. They’ve got different personalities. I do that so they focus on me, to remind them I’m in charge. Sunday dinner? A ‘this isn’t chicken’ roast with stuffing, cabbage, leeks and broccoli. Paul makes himself a chicken casserole. I’ve been vegan for three years. I don’t cook and he’s a fantastic cook, but he makes the fair point that I decided to go vegan, he didn’t, so he’s not cooking two meals. Monday dread? On Friday, I look at the next week ahead so I know what is coming my way, but I never look at it on a Sunday. It is my day away from everything. Sunday is a time for contemplation, not for work – it’s for remembering what life’s all about. Wind down? I sit with a heap of animals on my lap and can barely see the television. We watch something lovely like The Piano, because Sunday nights have a different feel to other days. We’ve just finished Baby Reindeer. That is definitely not for a Sunday.