French people.

I fill my journal and my notes and my computer files with new scenes and ideas and inspiration every day and enrich my novel with the glorious profusion of things that I'm living in every day, and the culture of words all around me. Because the French just love words, particularly witty—or poetic—words. It's not only that this is a city of innumerable bookshops, a city where writers both living and dead are celebrated. You also hear this love of words in shops and supermarkets, in trains and in market queues, and lots of ordinary places. French people admire people who speak well and think fast, and they love elegance of expression and quick-fire repartee—and Parisians are particularly famous for it. Occasionally the sharpness can turn to a vinegary sourness and the wit to cutting cruelty and the elegance of expression to a stony-hearted conventionality(being made to look ridiculous is a fate worse than death for Parisians!) But most often it's not like that at all but a distinctive aspect of Parisian life that never loses its charm. And for my young characters, discovering all those things for the first time, it's even more magical and amazing.