Published: September 30, 2023
When Steve Roberts called Barbaro to invite himself to Sweden, he felt he had something to offer. She said no. But just after midnight, she reconsidered
In 1973 I was living in a sharehouse in London, finishing my postgraduate studies in chemistry and riding around on a sputtering Finnish motorbike. One summer evening I arrived home, covered in oil spatters, to find a beautiful Swede named Barbaro sitting in our kitchen.
She had turned up out of the blue, a friend of one of the girls in the flat who had hit a rough patch. From the outset I found her to be a very interesting person to talk to and her progressive Scandinavian approach to life made her much better company than many of the British girls I knew at the time.
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