The Sun-Herald’s columnists are part of your Sunday each week. Here they share what constitutes their perfect Sunday.
Jacqueline Maley
A perfect Sunday is an unscheduled one, but varies according to the season. In the summer, you have croissants and coffee to start, obviously, then a long walk and an ocean swim. In the afternoon, you read the paper, then you read a novel, then you doze, waking around 4pm to prepare an early dinner. In wintertime, the walk would be more of an urban ramble, and maybe you would visit a market or a gallery, and the dinner preparation would start early and revolve around something meat-based and hearty. In this fantasy I was wearing the kind of rustic woollen jumper that doesn’t suit me in reality.
Jamila Rizvi
Every part of me wants to describe early morning yoga, a wholesome family brunch and perhaps a trip to a farmer’s market. But more likely, my Sundays involve negotiating with my eight-year-old son to please take a break from watching Bluey so I can take control of the television. This makes way for my actual Sunday ritual, which is watching Insiders on ABC, while inhaling a coffee and furiously texting my dad about the week in politics.
Kathy Lette
The day begins with a glass of botanically infused water that’s been filtered through crystals, fairies’ wings and unicorn’s balls. I then exercise; preferably some parachute formation followed by a little dressage. Next, a bath in oat, almond, and pea milk – all the milks from substances that can’t technically be milked – followed by a feast of non-irradiated, biodynamic, fair-trade quinoa. Thus fortified, I then execute the Kama Sutra, Advanced ... In truth, come the sabbath, there’s only one thing a woman wants in bed – the papers. A lie-in, slurping coffee, showered in croissant crumbs, devouring my favourite columnists, is my truly orgasmic Sunday ritual.
Danny Weidler
Not being woken with a phone call from somebody who appeared in my column that morning. Or from my editor. Any combination of a dog walk, bike ride and a body surf. One essential - a coffee from Tin Pin on Bondi road. The other essential – as much time as possible with my three beautiful kids.
Jo Stanley
Favourite Sunday ritual … is it my favourite ritual, or does it belong to our labrador, Daisy? Because by 10am she demands we stroll to the dog park, via our local hole-in-the-wall coffee shop. Chat over an almond latte with whoever is around, until Daisy loses patience and tears our arm out. Hit the park for dog chasey. Kick a footy with the kid, or if it’s footy season, head off to her game, dog still in tow. Sundays belong to Daisy, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.
Wendy Squires
Perfect Sundays always start with a big, wet slobber. It’s from my dog standing on my chest, as if she has an advent calendar and knows the big day has come. Sometimes – not always – she will allow me a coffee before I grab her lead, but mostly she just spins around in a circle as though she was a break-dancer on meth, peaking with excitement. You see, Sunday is our date day. It’s the day we do something special together. It’s a shared plate of bacon, a long walk on the beach, and endless tummy tickles and ball throws. Her joy, my therapy.
Kerri Sackville
Since my son moved out 18 months ago, he comes over for dinner most Sunday evenings. I make schnitzels or brisket or burgers (three of the handful of meals I cook well) and sit back and watch him and his two siblings talk a million miles an hour to each other. Half the time I have no idea what they’re talking about (gaming, streamers, memes, their friends, internet stuff) but I don’t care. I just bathe in the joy of their closeness. It’s the perfect way to end a week.
Peter FitzSimons
My perfect Sunday involves reading The Sun-Herald cover to cover, which includes reading my own column, (cough), several times, at the cafe. But for total perfection, I need ... victory. Three mates and I have been playing each other in a fierce battle of tennis doubles for about 15 years now. Sadly, Davey and Marty are ahead of Greg and I, about – dot three, carry one, subtract two – 312-76. But I have every confidence that over the next 10 years or so that balance will be put right. And it’s not just the two hours of tennis, that I love. It is the hour or so afterwards talking about our lives and the events of our times that is truly precious. A family dinner usually helps to top things off, followed by two or three hours working on my book - though that never feels like work – and I am done, but not dusted. For I want just the same Sunday for years to come.
Victoria Devine
Sunday, my favourite day, begins leisurely with tea, toast with Promite, and a leisurely morning in bed with my husband Steve, sheepadoodle Lucy, and Tonkinese cats Bailey and Henry. Rain or shine, we walk Lucy to our beloved cafe. A return home usually includes enjoying an acai bowl or avocado English muffins with the Sunday paper. Activities vary: visiting family, house resetting, or attending a wine bar with friends. To start winding down, I prepare for the upcoming week to ensure a smooth Monday morning. Evenings finish with Steve and I making dinner and aiming for an early bedtime.
Lucy Macken
My idea of a perfect Sunday starts with a couple of coffees delivered to me in bed while I read. Given this is my idea of a perfect Sunday, not a realistic one, there’s a jog that leaves my lungs hurting and if it’s summer there’s a body surf at North Curl Curl. Lunch is cooked by anyone but me, and an afternoon of gardening comes with a willing attendant to do the heavy lifting. A walk with the dog while I call everyone in my inner circle would fit into the day, as would time with my three kids.
Thomas Mitchell
It is embarrassing to admit just how much I played the song Sunday Morning by Maroon 5 when it was released in 2002. It begins like this: Sunday morning, rain is falling, steal some covers, share some skin. Despite being only 13 years old at the time, stealing covers from nowhere, and sharing skin with no one, it crystallised how Sundays were supposed to feel. A laziness, a stillness, a stay-in-bed-ness. The kind of slow-cooked day when reading, sleeping, cooking and eating are the only acceptable ways of passing the time. Maybe it’s raining, maybe it’s not; either way, it’s Sunday, and it’s perfect.
Jane Caro
My favourite Sunday’s start at 7am, with the thump, thump, thump, of our granddaughter’s small fist on our bedroom door. Not long after we have managed to make room for her and her older brother appears. He always sleeps longer than the bundle of impatient exuberance that is his sister. We rearrange ourselves again. “Wordle!” says my seven-year-old grandson. “It’s my turn to pick the first word!” Insists his sister. A squabble ensues. We have to do a fair amount of refereeing as they fight over words. But even their squabbling makes my writer’s heart sing. Sometimes I secretly hope it takes us all six lines to solve, because then the ritual lasts longer. Once it’s done, they are off to the next thing, and we get our bed back. My favourite Sunday ritual doesn’t happen every week, only when my grandchildren have stayed over, or we are at our family farm. That’s probably what makes it so special.
Brooke Boney
It’s difficult for me to think of anything more life-affirming than waking on a winter’s morning and heading to Redleaf for a swim. For some, it’s spring in Bondi or summer in Bronte. For me, it’s Redleaf in winter. Is there anywhere else in the world where you can drive to somewhere as naturally beautiful, sprint into the freezing water then retreat to the comfort of trackies and get an egg and bacon roll with tomato and barbecue sauce and a soy cappuccino? No matter how far I travel away from Sydney that’s what I’m dreaming of when I wake up on a Sunday morning.