They’re very quiet coffee shops, and there are some positions in which it’s easier to write. Somewhere there’s an outlet, and you can keep your back to people. I’ll write for about two hours and then get up and walk with my iPad to the next coffee shop, about 10 minutes away. When you walk, you get a little fresh air, and I’ve heard moving around is good for you while writing. When you write in an office or at home, you end up sleeping. You can’t sleep at a cafe since you can’t lie down. I think that’s good, and it’s become a habit. I wrote Parasite half in Seoul and half in Vancouver.

I call it “stolen time”—there’s nothing more valuable than stolen time. It happens to me sometimes when I’ve set up a meeting at my studio at a certain time and it gets cancelled on short notice. When it happens, I’m like a giddy child. I think, “Wow, I’ve stolen half an hour. It’s so exciting—I can do whatever I want!”

The great singer Um Kulthum (actually named Kawkab Elsharq – a superstar of the East) had a major influence on my appreciation of music. On the first Thursday of each month we listened to Um Kulthum's concert – "waslats" (three songs) – for more than three hours. During all of my study years in Egypt, the music of this unique figure gave me a special happiness, and her voice was often in the background while I was studying mathematics, chemistry… etc. After three decades I still have the same feeling and passion for her music.

Until this time I had never been able to drink whisky. I disliked the flavour intensely. I could not understand how so many of my brother officers were so often calling for a whisky and soda. I liked wine, both red and white, and especially champagne; and on very special occasions I could even drink a small glass of brandy. But this smoky-tasting whisky I had never been able to face. ... Once one got the knack of it, the very repulsion from the flavour developed an attraction of its own; and to this day, although I have always practised true temperance, I have never shrunk when occasion warranted it from the main basic standing refreshment of the white officer in the East.

My own snoring.

A lot of my decisions are made by instinct – you have a hunch.

I was a dishwasher in Paris and a hospital orderly in London. But I did anything that was going.

When Adèle walked down the road at the end of the film Blue Is The Warmest Colour.

He was vulnerable to all the sorts of contradictions that every human can be subject to.

Being alone in a room with a tiger: a recurring dream, never reality, fortunately.