Sundays growing up? I was always muddy as a child, either after playing 90 minutes of a football match, or from a cross-country race. It would end with my mum saying: ‘Take off your shin pads and boots at the door.’ She’d run a hot bath. The water was always so mucky I needed another one.
Sunday musts? Walking the dog, and, if I can, heading out for a Sunday dinner – it always tastes better when someone else has done the cooking. I live between Manchester and Liverpool, so there are a lot of options. It doesn’t have to be anywhere posh, just a local pub. We usually have to force Winnie, our bulldog, out of the house with a bag of treats. She probably comes back bigger than when she started.
