A s usual during a sunny weekend , a song was spilling out of the windows and doors of the flat next door. If the conditions were right and I had a window open, weed smoke would drift in uninvited . My young neighbour ’s music and smoking habits wasn’t an issue for me. If anything, I was just a little disappointed that I ’d yet to recognise a song . But two or three weeks after I’d moved in, while I was on my way to the shed, my ears pricked up . But it was being sung by Rihanna. I t was a very different version to the original, but I liked it. It made me stop dead in the middle of the garden as I was transported back to the moment I fell in love with Past Lives. Go back. Go back before I urge d a dozen friends to see Past Lives. Go back before I got a film poster of it for Christmas. Go back before I watched it for a third time on Blu-ray. Keep going back. Go back before I saw it for a second time with my brother and his fiancé