Since my week is usually very much shaped by client appointments, travel, events, and the occasional press appointment, I fall into a kind of trance on Sundays, if possible. Sleeping in, no alarm clock ringing, but the natural daylight that tickles me awake. A large coffee, the Sunday edition of the FAZ, Thursday's ZEIT, and the weekend edition of the FT smile temptingly at me from the kitchen table. After a forbiddenly long time in my nightgown, I go for a walk or to the gym in the afternoon, sometimes to a matinee at the cinema, or I talk for a long time on the phone with family and friends. In the evening, we cook pasta Bolognese, and I end the day with a glass of red wine.