Driving through County Donegal, somewhere south of Ballybofey, we turned left on to a narrow lane. After a few miles we came to an old stone bridge over a tumbling stream. It was wide open country, with forestry plantations and mountains in the background, but a foreground of pure Irish bog. No one in sight; no sound but the wind. And none of the paraphernalia of a border.
The sharp-bend sign on the far side was British-style black-and-white rather than Irish black-and-amber. And on the other side was an un-British 80kmph speed limit sign. The only other indicator was the phone flipping from network to network. I stood alone on the bridge: king of the wild frontier.
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