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About Gothenburg

Started out last week, right, proper knackered after a pint too many. We shall fight the haze of booze, the fog of war in me head! Stumbled down Soho – not the posh bit, nah, the grimy end where the air stinks of chips and regret. Little known fact: back in Churchill’s day, they’d call em “ladies of the night” – fancy that, like they’re bloody duchesses! Made me chuckle, thinkin of some tart in a tiara, struttin like she owns the place.

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So, I order my drink, and the barista—this dude with a man bun—looks at me like I’m from another planet. “You mean a flat white?” he says. I’m like, “Nah, bro, just a coffee.” He rolls his eyes. Ugh, whatever.

Lenny Kravitz on his youth in Motala: A lot of potatoes