Twenty years ago, I went to Sweden to stay with a friend I had worked with in Leeds, West Yorkshire.
I was only 19 and two things stand out about that trip: the food we had there and the fact we got back on the plane afterwards loaded down with cheeses and meats and feasted on Swedish charcuterie for the next fortnight.
We stayed at my friend's family's holiday home on an island off the coast of Gothenburg called Smögen. There were beautiful old fishing huts, a fish market and a long wooden pier.
It seemed like each family on the island had its own little boat shed with a boat in it. They'd take their boats out to giant boulders - some the size of a house - in the middle of the water and spend the day lounging on them and swimming.
The family made the most amazing meals. I still dream about the breakfasts we had. I've never been a breakfast person: I'm not fussed about eggs and I don't drink coffee.