Sunday morning? I wake up in a hotel room – confused, thirsty and tired – trying to work out if and how I’ll make it downstairs for breakfast. I’ve usually played a closing set the night before, not getting in until 4 or 5 in the morning, often later. Sometimes, I hit the buffet before bedtime.
How do you unwind? It’s my day of rest. I look at videos from the night before, sorting out my social media. When I make it back to east London I play PlayStation, watch Come Dine With Me, and think about takeaways.
Sundays growing up? As a kid I’d play football, then go to McDonald’s, but I wouldn’t tell Mum – she wasn’t into it. Through my teenage years me and my mates were innocent: while others smoked and drank we sat in the park like proper indie kids.
Will you exercise now? Darling, no. We can’t be doing that after the late nights and drinking. I’ve started running – it helps with my mental health – but that’s very much something for weekdays.
An afternoon to yourself? I try not to listen to music, for days I’ve been surrounded by it: going from a loud and busy place to emptiness and silence helps keep me calm. Occasionally, I dabble in the kitchen – I might cook a roast for one; it feels like proper adulting.
Sunday nights out? They are always an adventure: not much is open; you feel you shouldn’t be doing it. For me, Sunday nights spent dancing have always been special. I used to work a Sunday job at TopMan: still hungover from the night before, we’d take ourselves to GAY in Soho or to a random spot in Vauxhall afterwards. I miss that freedom and silliness.
And now? I’m mostly at home. By the evening I’ll have put down my phone; unless someone calls, I try not to touch it. Then I’m here for Real Housewives: Atlanta, Potomac or Salt Lake City. I find watching lives that are more chaotic than mine before bed strangely calming.
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