Wake up time? 6.30am. I’ve never quite got the hang of sleeping in late. I stare at my eyelids for half an hour, then spring into my en-suite yoga studio to bang out some shapes: downward crab, the rancid ocelot…
Breakfast? I’m trying the keto diet at the mo, so bread is off the menu, but it means I can eat as much bacon and avocado as I like. It’s the same with cream, so I’ll knock back half a pint with my coffee, then after it’s settled I’m back banging out shapes: backwards slab, a broken moose to finish.
A Sunday stroll? Ideally I’d be on my own, naked, on a private beach taking a wander, but in reality I’ll be walking around Hampstead Heath because it’s more convenient. Maybe I’ll try it naked sometime as a compromise of sorts.
Sundays growing up? There was lots of playing outside and building dens; searching for discarded, rain-swollen pornographic magazines and stashing them in said dens. Marbles featured heavily at one point. It was a run-of-the-mill northern 70s childhood.
Roast or no roast? My dream Sunday lunch is a giant curry with all the trimmings, preferably in a vat with a bendy straw. I grew up in Leeds and we’ve got some of the best Indian food in the land up there. I’d scoff it all down before a tea with two teabags and a custard pie to finish.
Who do you visit? Nobody. My mate Oli might pop round, or my other mate Jake. I’ve got two of them. I’m happy with music: a bit of Vaughan Williams to soothe my soul and then some Sleaford Mods. Fizzy.
Last thing you check on your phone? IMDb Pro, just to check my star rating. No, I’ve actually detached from my phone of late. I tried to downgrade to a simple phone, but the process was too complicated. I felt embarrassed and old, so instead I still use my fancy one, but mainly as a Walkman and torch.