It could have been said about me that I am being the miserable old Norse bastard, but I am thinking that this is not the truth. I am a person who would be always cheerful, if I could have found the excuse.
I have done the travelling far and across the world, but the tragedy seems to be always in my life. I was married when I had much lust and little wisdom, but I was not loved as great by my wife as my love was being for her. There was the birth of my son Espen, who I have loved more than any person on the world's face. Terribly, both of my wife and my poor dear Espen are now lifted from the surface.
With no matter to retain me in Norway, I did travel over the world, making my hands rough with the hard jobs and my memory poor with the hard drinking. If there is a job which for you is being unpleasant, nasty, filthy or painful, I have been of it.
A while of ten years ago I was in the America, when during a job of mine, I was on a sailing yacht which had an accident into a public bar. The damage on my face and arms was of greatness. I now have mechanical elbows, which give me the pains in the weather, and plates of metal in my face bones to keep my head of the round shape.
I have now been returned to my homeland of Norway, where I live in the small apartment alone. I am thinking that I have spent too much time with myself only. There is not many of the people I could call friends, and sometime I may have many days without doing a conversation with a man.
I am apologise for my poor English language. I have thought that I now am too old to learn it in properly fashion, but it is that the Internet is the English mostly and so I shall be talking of the Engelsk too.
I cannot have the photo of me put up. This face of mine is too much the scarred and battered and crooked for you to be seeing it. Sometime it is my thought that I should grow the beard, then not even I have to have seen my face when it is shaved in the mirror in the morning.
