He doesn’t pass by unnoticed, Bo Åke Adamsson. He either shows up in a white linen suit, white shirt, and white laced shoes, looking every bit the role of the Skagen painter, but instead of a silk scarf, he has a tie with dollar sign and he’s sitting on a tractor. Or he gives a general ”it’s been a hard day’s night” impression, but wearing a stetson hat that could have been given to him by the great Gatsby himself. Or he comes, and this has definitely happened, in a tailcoat and a T-shirt. An imposing man who looks shamelessly healthy, despite life on the wild side from time to time, and whose whole person emanates a liberating air of happy-go-luckiness.

A typified symbol of BO - What would that be? The open arms, the warm hug, the guffaw? The big mouth going off on some kind of a story, as if the stories were fluttering around inside his head and he pulled one out at random before you even get a chance to say hello? You know that no one is as much fun to talk to as Bo, even if you never get a word in edgewise, which isn’t the point, because it isn’t time for talking, it’s show time for the storyteller and you’re just part of his entourage. He loves to play the part, and one thing leads to another, and this goes on for maybe three-quarters of an hour, when he catches his breath and you get to throw in a ”Hi!” before he comes up with something else. He is associative, our Bo. His thoughts fly high and pure and sometimes they fly right out the window. He can climb up on a chair to give a speech at a party and off he goes, and god only knows what he’s talking about.