A morning routine? Radio 4 goes on the minute I wake up. If Sunday Worship – the church service – is still playing, I know to go back to bed. I drink homemade celery juice to level my thyroid, then settle down for a stint on the yoga mat if I can be bothered. And then I’ll potter indefinitely, now there are no longer friends coming over for brunch.
How are you coping? I’m a vulnerable old heap, but I seem to be all right at the moment. I’m enjoying resting, which I haven’t done much of in my 52 years of work. On a day off from Coronation Street I’ll slob around the house, but with so much time on my hands I’ve started to relax properly.
Do you miss working? What I’ve got from this period is a freedom from ambition for the first time in my working life. I’m not looking at anyone on television and thinking: why do I never get those parts? I know there’s a lot of misery out there, but I feel content. And I’m staying creative: crocheting hats, writing rants and sending them to editors in the hope somebody might publish one.
An afternoon activity? I’m suspicious of Zoom, it just sort of appeared when we needed it. But I’m using it to teach drama classes to my grandchildren. I’ve written them a formidable play – The Guerrilla and the Unicorn – and have made a theatre from a cardboard box. They’re desperate to perform to their parents, but we’re not quite ready. The show won’t open until they’re both off script, and my granddaughter – our enthusiastic unicorn – has a habit of overacting.
The sound of Sunday? I used to listen to The Archers omnibus, but not these days: it has gone fucking mad. On Sunday evenings, Clare Teal and then Don Black play the music I love on Radio 2: Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra.
And Sunday night? Last Sunday I ate a bowl of ravioli in bed before dozing off. I woke up again around 3am from an anxious actor’s dream – I was stuck on stage at the National Theatre. I suppose that’s what you get from eating cheese before bed.
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