I don't have a deep link with England like, say, Jonathan Coe or Hanif Kureishi might demonstrate. For me it is like a mythical place.

If I'm alone at home, I get increasingly restless, bothered by the idea that I'm missing some crucial encounter out there somewhere. But if I'm left by myself in someone else's place, I often find myself a nice sense of peace engulfing me. I love sinking into an unfamiliar sofa with whatever book happens to be lying nearby.

It had never occurred to me that our lives, which had been so closely interwoven, could unravel with such speed.

The evening's the best part of the day. You've done your day's work. Now you can put your feet up and enjoy it.

I think jogging is bad for your health. All that pressure on the knees and back cannot be good for you.

Typically in my novels the narrator tells a story by remembering, and the memories are colored by this and colored by that. So the whole universe of the novel tends to be framed by the narrator's memories and thoughts.

One is not struck by the truth until prompted quite accidentally by some external event.