Sunday mornings? Our three-month-old boy is up at 6.30am and our eight-year-old son loves to jump in our bed. I’m a lounger, but I’m very conscious that Sunday is a day to spend with family.
Sundays growing up? My mother was a minister, so Sunday mornings were quite an event, getting eight kids ready to go to church. There is a particular smell of black hair being straightened with a hot comb heated on the fire in the kitchen that reminds me of all my sisters getting ready for Sunday school.
Sunday lunch? We’re savage carnivores, so my family loves my herb-crust roast beef and curried salmon. I compete with my wife over barbecued pork ribs. She’s from Taganrog in Russia and her mother sent her some interesting spice, but she won’t tell me what it is.