When I was about three years old, I was playing in the yard with a little boy named Vova. Vova found a little brick and threw it at my head. The brick cut my forehead; I let out a squeal and ran away to my parents. My mummy was upset and she decided to punish the boy, but my father asked her not to meddle in, because he was sure that I should arrange everything on my own. I don’t remember how I have arranged everything, but from that moment I have never complained and I always solve my problems without assistance.

When I was 2 years old my parents brought me to Kirovogradskaya region to visit my grandma. There lived a dog, Tobik, at that time Tobik was the same height as me. Tobik approached me and bit my forehead. May be I happened to abuse him and that was his act of resistance, but I don’t remember such a case. I was shouting at the top of my voice. I have since been blown on the head many times - by the pillar which suddenly appeared on my way, by the stunt man’s elbow, by the door of the car. Thanks to these cases everything (I-don’t- know-what-it-is) in my head never loses its vigor.

I wish you only positive news, to shoot comedies, to share you smile with everybody and to have the most durable helmet for your head.