Three times I passed through Waterloo Station in London in the last week. Ever since I arrived there last Friday, the Kinks' song Waterloo Sunset repeated itself in my head. Walking though the fields in Devon in the weekend I heard myself humming it sometimes. Last Tuesday I left London from Waterloo Station, jumping into a taxi last minute after having waited for the bus to Stansted Airport for an hour in vain. The tune dissolved into thin air when I flew to Wroclaw where I wandered around in the last two days and made myself at home at the Vinyl Cafe. There is a huge collection of records they play on request. And just now, sitting outside, drinking wine and just having finished my dinner, I hear Waterloo Sunset coming out of the speakers.

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