There is a fantastic, but little-known Irish film called Silence. In it, a man travels back home from Europe to rural Donegal in an attempt to record silence. His works as an audio recordist, so this is not as bizarre as it appears. He is constantly thwarted as he tries to find some part of increasingly remote countryside that isn’t impacted by some manmade sound.
Given that the film is Irish, it is really a rumination on identity, land, progress and death. It’s very slow. You should watch it.
You’re ahead of me here…
I was thinking about it this week as our national Brexit psychosis gripped further. Just how far would you have to escape to be beyond any mention or echo of Brexit? Top of Snowdon? An oilrig in the North Sea? Deep into Gaping Gill cave?
The more we hear, the less we understand. And even despite that lack of clarity, entrenched positions become more entrenched. Article 50 can be rescinded. Or maybe it can’t. And there are parliamentary amendments flying around like garden trampolines in a storm.
I asked a very wise political commentator if he could make sense of it and, in a few sentences, tell me what would happen. He laughed, right in my face.