How does Sunday start? With a 20-minute breathing and stretching routine that I do every day, I literally cannot get out of bed otherwise because of my sciatica. Then it’s a glass of lemon and ginger powder mixed with coconut water, before a one-on-one pilates class at 8am.
A day out? I take a long walk up the River Thames from Henley, or a trip to the country. This Sunday I’m heading to Great Dixter House in Sussex, for a plant fair in one of the world’s greatest gardens.
Do you work? During fashion weeks I’ll be up at the crack of dawn doing shows, but otherwise I’ll keep them for myself. I’m from an era where nothing happened on Sundays in our quiet Scottish village. I’m not religious, but the day feels sacred.
What were your Sundays like as a kid? We were relentless clubbers, so we spent the day recovering in bed, preparing for another round of partying. The best Sunday nights were at the Embassy Club on Bond Street. There was something seductive about going out on Sunday night, and the salons would be closed on Monday, which meant no work in the morning.
A significant Sunday? Princess Diana’s death on 31 August 1997. I was at home when a friend called to tell me the news, at 5am in the morning. What happened next is a devastating haze. I just know I lost a dear friend that day. It was terrible, public and traumatic.
How do you spend Sunday nights? In the summer I’d be out, but we’ve just started doing winter roasts at home, before settling down with Countryfile, Antiques Roadshow and a 9pm BBC drama on television. I do nothing to prepare myself for the week ahead; I absolutely hate Mondays. I see every day of the week as a colour: Sunday is red, Monday is sludgy brown.
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