I watched 28 Years Later at the cinema today. I went in expecting a zombie film. What I got was something quieter and strangely moving.
Yes, there are infected. Yes, there’s horror. But underneath all that is a feeling I didn’t expect. A kind of sadness, and a sense of a country that has lost its way.
Some people have said it’s a Brexit film. I think that’s true.
The Britain shown in the film is cut off from the rest of the world. People are surviving, but only just. There’s no real trust and no real structure. Everyone is trying to make sense of a world that feels smaller, colder, and more divided.
That hit home.
I voted Remain, and I still believe strongly in being part of Europe. More than that, I do not believe in borders at all. I think people should be able to move, live, and care for each other freely, without being fenced off by fear or paperwork. I know not everyone agrees, but to me it just feels human.
28 Years Later does not push a political message, but it does show what happens when a country closes itself off. When people are told to be afraid of each other. When connection is replaced with control. The Rage virus in the film might be fiction, but the feelings underneath it are real. Fear, anger, isolation.
There are still moments of hope, though. Quiet ones. People looking out for each other. Holding on to something kind in the middle of all the damage. That stayed with me more than anything else.
It has been almost ten years since the Brexit vote. The shock has faded, but the mood has not. That feeling of being cut adrift. Of things slowly falling apart.
28 Years Later does not offer easy answers. But it does ask a question that feels important. What kind of place do we want to be now?
Tag: quiet internet
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The Rage of Division: 28 Years Later as Allegory
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Like Shit Off a Shovel
I first got online in 1994. Back then, just saying that felt futuristic. Most people I knew didn’t have the internet at all. You had to dial in, literally. That high-pitched screech of a modem connecting was the sound of something new.
We called it the information superhighway, and it really did feel like that, a strange and open road with no clear destination. You just explored.
The web was small. Pages were mostly grey. Text was blue and underlined. If you wanted a picture, it took time to load. Search engines weren’t very good. But there was something honest about it. You were more likely to stumble upon someone’s handmade website or message board than be guided by an algorithm. It felt like wandering.
I remember someone in my family trying my 28.8k modem for the first time. After watching a page load faster than expected, they leaned back and said, “That thing goes like shit off a shovel.” At the time, it really did feel like that.
I spent time on Usenet newsgroups, where people held long, often thoughtful discussions, threaded and searchable. And I used IRC, where you could drop into a channel and chat in real time with strangers from around the world. There was something raw but real about it. No profiles. No bios. Just usernames and conversation.
There was no social media, no feeds, no notifications. If you wanted to connect with someone, you’d read their post or their homepage and send them an email. Maybe they’d write back. It was slow in the best way.
Now the internet is always on, always loud. Every platform wants your attention. Content is chopped into algorithms and pushed into your day whether you asked for it or not. People compete for visibility, likes, reach. It’s not all bad, but it’s a long way from how it started.
I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. About how the internet used to be made up of small, personal spaces. And how it could be that again, at least in a quiet corner.
That’s what I’m trying to build here. This site doesn’t run on likes or shares. I don’t have to post at the right time or follow trends. I just write when I want to. People can leave a comment if they feel like it. Or not.
The difference is, I control this space. No ads. No feeds. Just a small corner of the internet where I can show up as myself.
It might seem old-fashioned, but I don’t mind that. I’m from the dial-up days. And I still think there’s something worth keeping from that time.
At the same time, I’m not anti-technology. Quite the opposite. I still get excited about new ideas and tools, especially AI. I think we’re only just beginning to see how it’s going to change how we work, create, communicate and learn. Used well, it can help us cut through noise, automate the boring stuff, and make space for more human connection, not less.
So I’m not turning my back on the future. I just want to bring a little more of the past into it.