How does Sunday start? At 7.30am, with this small person who lives with us waking me up gleefully. I’d like to say a special thanks to the creators of Paddington 2: we watch it week-in-week-out, and I enjoy it as much as my toddler.
What’s cooking? Not much for breakfast; I save myself for lunch. I’ve got a Big Green Egg – a charcoal-fired barbecue and oven. I pop in a chicken with wine, garlic, butter and herbs and it steams through the meat.
Do you work on Sundays? The past 18 months aside, I often find myself alone in a theatre. I’d rather not work Sundays – my wife has a proper job, so it’s a bit of an incursion – but there’s not a lot you can do about it when on tour.
Do you exercise? I got told I had to sort out my blood pressure earlier this year, so I bought a rowing machine. Sundays aren’t exempt, apparently. I might well find myself going backwards and forwards in front of Paddington 2.
What does Sunday feel like? By the afternoon, Sundays have always had that vibe of ‘Oh God, the week’s about to start.’ As a kid at boarding school, that’s when I’d head back from a home visit. If I’m working, I at least get to avoid that ingrained melancholic despair.
A day to yourself? I’d try to lie in, although I’d fail, then I’d go out for lunch and sink a bottle of wine before falling asleep in front of the telly. It’s a modest ambition, but it sounds pretty perfect to me.
Sunday evening? It’s box-set time: I’ve an 18-year-old and I explained she needs to have at least seen The Sopranos before entering the adult world. In bed, I stare at Twitter; my addiction is a bone of contention.
Al Murray, The Pub Landlord, is on a nationwide tour: Landlord of Hope and Glory (thepublandlord.com)