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About Linkoping

Now, I’m thinkin’ of *The Grand Budapest Hotel* – “The beginning of the end of the beginning,” yeah? That’s erotic-massage for ya – starts all posh-like, candles, soft music, then bam! Someone’s kneadin’ yer arse like dough! Wes Anderson’d film it with pastel towels and a cheeky wink. “Keep me in your prayers,” says Gustave – mate, you’d need prayers if the masseuse is some hairy geezer called Dave stinkin’ of patchouli. Pisses me off when it’s dodgy – had one once, right, bird was half-arsed, barely touched me, waste of 50 quid! Fumin’, I was.

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First off, I hit up the local café on Storgatan. You know, the one with the weirdly awesome pastries? I grab a kanelbullar (cinnamon bun) and a coffee. I’m feeling like a king. But then, bam! My phone buzzes. It’s my buddy, Erik. He’s like, “Dude, meet me at the park!” I’m thinking, “What park?” Turns out, he means the one by the Falköping Church.

Inför Throwbackfestivalen i Falköping – intervju med Scott Crouse, Earth Crisis