Now I am 30.
My twenties have now officially come and gone and I’ve entered the realm of 30. Honestly? I couldn’t be happier about it. Sure, it’d be nice to be turning 20 now instead of when I did, growing up savvier and with so many more information and opportunities at my disposal.
But I’m not, and wishing for it is just encroaching more on my thirties, so why bother.
Black Mirror made its return on October 21st, with a new series double the length of its predecessors and big, shiny Netflix budget to fund it. For the uninitiated, it’s the brainchild of satirist, malcontent and silver fox Charlie Brooker, and explores a future not too removed or dissimilar to our own: one where technology, and our reliance on it, has made everything that little bit darker. It’s science fiction, but not so outlandish that it feels unimaginable. It has an almost prophetic feel to it, and that’s where its danger has always been. Who would’ve thought that, some years after its debut episode, the Prime Minister would be accused of getting his jollies from a dead pig?