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Stormborn and the tyranny of choosing a Netflix series

Saturday afternoon generally consists of listening to Town on Radio Suffolk then some TV while dinner cooks. I’m not fussy about what I watch, and yesterday’s randomish programme was a nature docu called Stormborn, which was basically about non-human life in the north Atlantic (killer whale, thrashing seal – you get the idea).

Now, it’s unlikely I’d choose to watch Stormborn, but it popped up and provided a pleasant hour or so of sublime wallpaper and low stakes drama (not for the seal, admittedly). Who isn’t a sucker for Icelandic vistas of vertiginous, dark angles and stony seas? The Ewan McGregor narrative had a weird Oedipal Jordan Peterson undertone, but anyway.

Compare this with the ballache of finding a series on Netflix. The endless scrolling, searches and banal programme blurbs. Sometimes you just want Auntie to provide something that fits your mood – no algorithm, no effort.

(Iceland, yesterday):

A tall cliff overlooks a stormy sea.


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