Anyone who, like me, is prone to melancholy would do well to go to a place that drives away the darkness during such phases of life. For me, one of these places is in east London, between Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park and a light rail stop with the extremely tacky name of Pudding Mill Lane: the Abba Arena. A time machine, incredibly cleverly constructed from light and sound and complex computer technology. It lets me travel back to another world: the pop band of my heart is back on stage. And I, an older man, born in 1971, an Abba extremist since 1977, suddenly become young again. The show in London is called “Abba Voyage”. Two million people have already seen it. No photo can depict what exactly is happening. You have to experience it.

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