"In Gothenburg, the city where I grew up, I've had a few friends from Poland. Further down my street in a squatted flat lived a girl called Dorota Turalska. I went there one evening with my other Polish friend Zbigniew Karkowski. We drank whiskey and Dorota gave me a haircut with a very blunt pair of scissors. The next day in school my teacher asked me if everything was OK, judging from the look of my hair. I felt very pleased with my kaputt haircut. Zbigniew also lived around the corner. I would spend many evenings at Zbigniew's place, drinking tea and smoking hash and listening to piles of records I brought with me. I always loved the way my Polish friends would joke and talk with their, often raw and honest, no-bullshit view of everything. To this day I laugh to myself when thinking about it."