The songs that stick can be weird. Back in the summer of '77 I was in France and the woman with whom I was truly, madly, deeply etc was on the other side of the Channel.
French pop music, as any fule no, simply sucks, so the radio playlists are nearly all anglo - which meant that that summer I couldn't escape from the Julie Covington version of Don't Cry For Me, Argentina as I moped around in a love-struck, teen-angst, lost sock in the laundromat of life sort of way.
The good news is, I still love the woman for whom I was pining. The bad news is, I can also sing the song word-perfect (which is odd for a bloke!).