H e j s a n , Sverige

I couldn't believe it. I was back. Somewhere far out in the Swedish Archipelago lies a wooden house that my very clever Grandpa [Morfar] built. It is my most favourite place.

I found my special rock that sat next to a gently undulating sea. Out of nowhere a crimson sun appeared and I couldn't stand on my rock any longer. It was time to peel all of my clothes off and launch into the freeeeeezing Baltic. Like a trigger, a re-set switch, a bleeding bolt of lightning, the slithers of piercing water sliced through my urban hardened carcass, instantly disallowing me to engage with any sort of ambition to embark on the highly anticipated maiden strokes over to the neighbour's buoy and back. A frantic plunge would have to do for now. But it was an excuse to get right back there on my rock and re-introduce my lucky mind with the shear visions of undying beauty that purred, all the way around me.
Then I went on up there + caught up with my family; jabbering away with my brother, Tom in the welcomingly baking Bastu, squinting out at the alluring diamond encrusted sea that pottered around patiently waiting to relieve us of our boiling blood. Until it was time for "let's face it, the best hour of the day" Tom says lashing generous portions of gin and lime into four glasses and assembling bowls of dill chips + olives to compliment so perfectly the first drink of the evening. And all four a us would saunter on down there to that Jetty, built by the hands of my Morfar all them years ago and embark on some much awaited moments of being all of us together at last.