Släktbloggen

...well, not really. (If my mother had been a little more light-footed I would have wondered who the real father was.) But there are similarities. When the two of us are having a discussion, which involves exaggerations and sounding very very angry, no one can doubt that we are related.

When I was eight my father taught me to play chess. I was a fairly good player at amateur level. This photo from 1984 shows the two of us sitting in Skeda's garden. This was about the time when I started to beat my father, I remember I beat him 12 times in all. But I still don't know if it was because I was really better than him, if he let me win or if he was just tired of the game.