Sunday with Jacqueline Wilson: ‘It’s called the South Downs, but it mostly seems to be up’ | Sunday with…

Sunday morning? Sundays have changed radically since I moved to the country. I liked to spend mornings in the gallery, at lunch, reading the Sunday papers. It was tender, aged, wonderful.

And now? They start extremely early because we have animals: a cat, two dogs and a chicken. Animals don’t understand Sunday. They don’t think, “Oh, how divine, we’re going to hang out for a while.” The cat wants breakfast, and the dogs need to be walked.

And the chicken? Poppy is desperate to get out for a peck. She gets treats: strawberry popsicles in the summer and porridge in the winter. I have a very angelic partner who takes care of the animals while I write for an hour. Then, as a reward, I get breakfast in bed.

Possibly eggs? They are delicious. When we had four hens, we were everyone’s best friend – we always had dozens spare. Even our postman got involved.

Out and about? The seaside is always incredibly tempting – 10 minutes away. You can walk along the esplanade with God knows how many others, or head to the beach, which is completely undeveloped: no ice cream.

Sunday meal? Neither of us are keen on a Sunday roast, so we head to the nearby cycling cafe – we don’t ride bikes – for healthy, tasty sandwiches named after famous cyclists like Bradley Wiggins.

Sunday afternoon? We can go for a walk. It’s called the South Downs, but it mostly looks up. The views are wonderful, but you should check the weather first. We got caught in torrential rain, which is no fun.

Sunday to relax? We are in the middle of Clarkson’s Farm. I never willingly watched Jeremy Clarkson when he was a jerk Top Gear. I love it now. The episode where his piglets start dying is tragic.

Monday? I don’t mind Mondays. It takes time for people to prepare and send emails so I can write in peace and plan what the week holds.

My National Gallery, London is now in cinemas