A lot of my ideas come out of nowhere. Literally. I’ll just be walking somewhere, and a voice will pop into my head and start talking. The monologue in “Four Lies” is a pretty verbatim transcript of a sardonic guy who’s dying and wants to mess with people’s head from the grave. I had to duck into a pub and start scribbling stuff down. There’s a good reason for always having a notebook and pencil with you!

There was no particular inspiration to the film, although I had been wondering whether it was possible to make a film entirely without help. The chap who started talking to me that day gave me the answer.

If you’re wondering if the guy is anything like me… no.

Well, maybe a bit.

When I was a teen, all-nighters at the Scala in King’s Cross or my local flea pit in Walthamstow (the late lamented ABC, still at the heart of a battle to bring cinema back to Waltham Forest). I went to one when I was in college at Bournemouth, screening all three Alien movies if I remember rightly. Leeds United were down for the day, and rampaged through the town while I sat, happily ensconced in my monster films. I wandered out at six in the morning to hazy sunshine and a post-apocalyptic landscape of smashed windows, busted park benches and random knots of bleary Northern footballing types, all fought out and waiting for the first train home.

Fun times.