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Sundays growing up? We’d go to Saint Bernard’s in Edinburgh, which had beautiful blue velvet carpets and wooden pews. Upstairs there were little wooden gates, which I found fascinating, but church was boring and dull. I’m not a believer. I like a fun Sunday as opposed to a boring one.
Sunday achievement? I’ve got to the point where I’m aware that my life span is running out. It sounds gloomy, but I’ve realised I have to enjoy life. I’ve been susceptible to depression. Now I think: ‘You’d better go out there because in 20 years you won’t be as capable.’ Just getting out of bed and feeling alive feels like a plus.
Recent Sundays? I lost my dog Veela, a ginger rescue terrier, last year. Sundays have been a bit sad since. I have no routine. At least last Sunday was fun.
Last Sunday? I went to my favourite French bistro, Figaro in Los Feliz (which means ‘happy ones’), with my darling husband. We had croissants, which I became obsessed with recently because for a while I’d gone off breads. Now I’m back on breads, which isn’t great for the waistline but wonderful for the soul.
You live in LA? I do. Then my husband – and this is what made the Sunday spectacular – said we should go down to Luna Luna, an amusement park created in the 1980s by a bunch of incredible artists: Salvador Dalí, David Hockney, Keith Haring, Jean-Michel Basquiat. It was so elating, it brought tears to my eyes.
Sunday dinner? I will, if I can, impersonate my mother by making a chicken dinner on a Sunday night. I was once on the tour bus with my band mate Duke Erickson. We were watching the shopping channel and they were selling this copper pan that could do anything. Next birthday, Duke gave me the copper pan. It’s been a lifesaver –I can now ape my own mother by shoving the chicken, vegetables and gravy in one pan. Bob’s your uncle.
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