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How We Met



Idag är det fyra (!) himla år sedan Daniel frågade om jag kunde vara hans flickvän. Det känns som en evighet för att det är just det, och jag hade inte velat ha det på något annat sätt. Jag skulle kunna fylla det här inlägget med en oändlighet av ord om honom och om oss, men idag känns all för privat. Vad jag kan säga är att jag hoppas på minst 400 år till av vansinne ihop, och så tänker jag låta ett utdrag av mina bästa inlägg om oss här nedanför tala för sig själva.

Today it is four (!) freaking years since Daniel asked me to be his girlfriend. It feels like an eternity because it is, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I could write an endless post about him and us but all words feel to private. What I can say is that I hope we get at least 400 more years of madness together and then I will let this selection beneath of my favourite posts about us speak for themselves.

My favourite posts about us:

The story of how me met
A midnight surprise
A dream of a house
Overexposed memories
Hackney mornings



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Today it’s been three years since we laid in his bed the night of Friday 13 and he asked me to be his girlfriend. How insanely long is that?! We are celebrating with drinking whiskey at the cinema tonight and having take out in bed.

Some of you might remember when my 19 year old self met this mysterious Canadian but I figured it’s time to properly tell the story of how we met: Linn+Daniel

foto Frida Vega Salomonsson

It all begins one late night in June 2011. Outside it was vibrating hot and we were out at night in only mini skirts and a tan. Olivia and I were still new to London and spent every second exploring it. This night we had a pre-party at our house, drinking K cider and playing messy summer music on the balcony with our neighbour James. As so many times before, we took the double decker 8 down to Shoreditch and went to our regular bar Catch. That was back when the crowd was still cool and the magazines fought over taking people’s portraits there. The queue was overwhelmingly long but we skipped to the front, kissed the bouncers on the cheeks and snuck in. In the midst of east londoners wearing dirty shoes and naked skin we danced like nothing could prevent us from ever being anything but 19 and ignorant.

Sometime during the night we bought beer by the bar to cool down. A young man tapped me on the shoulder and asked what my name was, what music I like, and everything else people ask when they don’t know each other yet. He was tall and handsome with dark hair and the iciest blue eyes I had ever seen. We got 7min of conversation before Olivia pulled me away as we were late meeting our friends in Dalston. I turned to the handsome young man telling him that I had to leave.

– Can I at least get your number? he asked.

I thought that it was pointless, I knew I didn’t want a boyfriend until I was done with London and by then I’ll be at least 35. But I also thought about how painfully pretty he was. For once I decided to compromise, wrote my name on a note from the bar and told him to find me on facebook. It said Linn and nothing else, leaving it up to destiny and his research skills to find me. I left and returned to doing dumb things with Olivia, completely forgetting about this encounter.

Two months later, I was visiting my family in Stockholm when I received a Facebook message from a tall and handsome man with dark hair and icy blue eyes. Apparently not that many people are named Linn in London after all. The message read something like this:


I sat in my parents garden with a flattered heartbeat and brief panic. I never thought he’d find me. I wrote back saying of course I remember but I’m out of town but who knows perhaps when I get back. He told me to get in touch once I was in London again and I thought that that will never happen, I’m too shy and too happy being single.

Another six months went by when suddenly another message popped up in my inbox. It was him again. He had found this note once more, the one with my name on it, and he knew it was even more weird and more awkward this time but would I be up for actually meet up for a drink?

I read it on my flickering pc screen and felt that this must be the bravest guy in this world. He’s asking me out again after having been pretty much turned down twice. I’m such a sucker for brave hearts (and pretty eyes) so this felt irresistible.

Our first date was at the pub the Royal Oak. In my nervousness I had accidentally showed up 20min early and was now hiding in an alley around the corner, high on nicotine from chain smoking five cigarettes in a row. I told myself that now you have to get your fucking shit together and then I went inside. For 15minutes I was standing alone in the packed bar, thinking that I had been stood up, before he arrived, late. What an asshole, I thought but he quickly made me change my mind because he turned out to be pretty lovely. My plan had all along been to have drink or two and then go meet up with Olivia, because how fun can dates be anyways? Instead I was having hell of a time as the hours flew by. When the bar closed we continued from one bar to the next. At 3am we had ended up at Catch where we had first met that one sweltering night in June. To the pulsating beat of hiphop he pushed me against a wall and kissed me.

The date lasted over 24 hours. Probably a record for first dates. I woke up in his bed the morning after and he took me for brunch up in Hackney and coffee at Broadway Market. It felt impossible to have this much fun with a hot stranger and then leave it. So I asked if he wanted to meet again. And he sure did.

Turns out that London was even better with him.



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