Sunday morning? I like to lie in on a Sunday, until half nine or 10. Pre-Covid, weekends didn’t mean much to me, but for the past 18 months I’ve been making the most of having a day to be properly hungover. I’ll make a coffee and put the telly on, preparing for the excitement of Super Sunday football.
What does Sunday feel like? Slow and relaxed, with mellow music: think Billie Holiday with your breakfast. You can’t go wrong with a bit of Kris Kristofferson’s Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down, either. If I’m not working, I won’t do much else, except maybe popping to the pub, if I’m not feeling too delicate.
Sundays growing up? They were often filled with dread, knowing school would return tomorrow. I played football, for a Sunday league team, then we’d have Sunday lunch at my grandma and grandpa’s where we lived in Clifton, Nottingham. Columbo and Open All Hours were always on. A proper Sunday night treat was The Simpsons and ice-cream.
A special Sunday? We played Standon Calling last Sunday, a festival in Hertfordshire. It just felt brilliant to be back on stage. We’d played in Sheffield on Friday, and Trent Bridge Cricket Ground on Saturday. Before each gig I was anxious, but the crowds were excited and forgiving. I was buzzing after three gigs. It’s been strange coming back down to earth.
Sunday evening? I like a curry on Sunday night, eaten in front of a movie. There’s a great takeaway called Patri in Hammersmith. I go through phases, but I’ve been into chicken saag recently: medium spiced, healthy enough. I don’t do anything to prepare for Mondays – it’s a write-off; the dishes can wait.
If you could be anywhere next Sunday… I’d be in Tokyo watching the Olympics, I love Japan and would love to revisit. To be honest, though, I’d go literally anywhere at this point in the pandemic, if I could.