Strange co-incidences pt. 94

We got back from holiday fine. Onto a dirty train at Gatwick full of nasty Sussex oiks. And I mean "f-ing, c- ing" retards. Welcome home...

Two days ago I found myself driving along the Euston Road, crossing over Baker Street. And for the rest of the journey I was trying my damnedest to get that song out of my head. Have you ever tried whistling it, you know, straight from your head? Could I get the sax solo right, the bit where it goes all twiddly? No, I could not.

And then for the co-incidence.

First let me explain that way, way back, when I was at boarding school, I used to spend half-term holidays in this country, either with my maiden great-aunt in Salisbury, or sometimes with my sister and brother, who shared a house in Bramley, near Guildford. And we would go to a pub, the Wheatsheaf, where I would have a Coke while my siblings would consume pints, and we would play pool, and I would put some pocket money (25p?) in the juke box, and my favourite selection was Gerry Rafferty's Baker Street. 

And yesterday afternoon, re-routing my sat-nav to avoid a congested M25, completely unexpectedly I found myself driving through ... Bramley. And past the Wheatsheaf, and there's Baker Street pounding inside my head yet again.