1. 33 years ago, Mr and Mrs Andersson christened their third child Dan. No, it is not short for Daniel. Although I sometimes wish it was.

Like elementary school, when the teacher would tell us what our names actually meant. I could have been a “God is my judge”. But no, I’m “from Denmark”. And I assure you, I’m not.

2. The small mining town I grew up in is famous for one thing and one thing only: a killer cult called The Magic Circle, responsible for a series of murder/robberies in the 30′s.

These were performed to pay for courses in meditation and hypnosis.

When the full horror of the crimes was revealed, a foreign journalist dubbed the town: “The Swedish Chicago”.

Obviously, he’d never even set foot in our sparsely housed slag heap. But reading this half a century later, it stirred the imagination of this young boy and set me on my course.

3. I have no career. No planned career, anyway. Everything is incidental. Like how I finally became a journalist:

Staying at this squat in an old semi-abandoned building in Gothenburg, I noticed the floor and the walls were completely covered – insulated, I suppose – with pages ripped from a music magazine.

Some of the writing was so bad, I started reading it aloud, mocking it as I went along. Of course, it turned out two of the people there actually worked for this magazine, so they said, “Let’s see you do better then” – and got me my first job just to shut me up.

4. Some positions I’ve held:

*Culture, entertainment, feature, night and book editor for an array of newspapers and magazines.

*Crime writer for a number of newspapers, including Sweden’s second biggest tabloid.

*Book, movie, record, concert and theatre reviewer.

*Freelance writer on a number of different fields and topics.

5. The most valuable advice I have picked up along the way was from my editor at the Swedish tabloid Expressen: “You don’t get lucky – you earn it.”

6. The most important lesson I learned: there are no stupid questions.

More than ten years ago, fresh on the job, I encountered a particularly hostile press officer who worked for the regional council where I was living at the time.

“Don’t you know anything about the bidding process for public transportation in this region?” she belched at me over the phone.

Then I had what alcoholics call a moment of clarity.

“No, I don’t”, I said. “Can you think of any real reason why anybody not immediately involved would or should have this knowledge?”

The five seconds of dead silence on the other end were the sweetest five seconds of my short life up until then.

7. At no time during my journalistic non-career has there ever been any call for me to learn the first thing about the European Parliament.

This isn’t meant as a slight to the EP.

But it’s the direct cause why I applied for a paid traineeship here: where else would be better to learn about the EU, than right here in Brussels?

8. With all my interests and hobbies, I barely have time for work. Some of my weirder passions include: criminal history, the Julian Emperors of Ancient Rome, film noir of the 40′s and 50′s and currently the prion (protein) disease Fatal Familial Insomnia.

Oh, and yes, I have vacationed at reactor four in Chernobyl.

9. I have performed live music in front of an audience – nay, a crowd – of 30 000 to 40 000 people.

In China.

Apparently, this is not as impressive as it sounds in a country that hosts 21 per cent of the world’s population. “Come back national day!” was the rather flippant remark of our gracious host at Beijing University.

10. So, do I have any goals beyond this internship? Sure. Many. For instance, I want to write the world’s shortest short story. Even shorter than Hemingway’s classic: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

He would have been an ace synopsis writer, wouldn’t he? Too bad he’s indisposed. I’m still available, though. I guess we’ll just have to see if I have earned enough chips on my good luck account…