I moved here but might as well been elsewhere… thought about berlin but barely knew a word of german, I was 19, an aura of naivety swirling around my head like the exhale-smoke of long swedish winters to which I might return but hate so much. i’d never even been to london before. am I going north, south, east? remember looking at flats and feeling helplessness, neverending exhilaration, almost numb? I moved and I didn’t have a clue, got a tiny room in manor house, a box room containing a bed and a fabric wardrobe, living with an older married couple and a somehow filmstar pixie-looking frenchie.
the couple: a photographer australienne, perhaps too nice for her own good, so small and sweet, and her UK husband always on the edge of addiction and then falling back… alcohol and coke flowing around the place after I left apparently. french girls always tell you the backstory.
that was the beginning.
chance grabs you, shakes you and you never know where you’ll end up.
and I’m still here, since then been building a world for myself from nothing,from a spontaneous adolescent decision. now I’ve got two homes, two places where I belong.