HBO in 2011 put its reputation on the line in entrusting two rookie show-runners to bring to the screen an unfashionable fantasy novel (all fantasy novels being at the time unfashionable). April 17th marks a decade since King Robert paid his fateful visit to Ned Stark at Winterfell and we were introduced to the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros via that iconic “clockwork map” and Ramin Djawadi’s cello-fuelled score. And now Game Of Thrones, adapted from George RR Martin’s A Song Of Fire and Ice, has reached its 10th anniversary. Game of Thrones was no longer gatecrashing the mainstream. There were, of course, socks bearing the dragon sigil of the Targaryens, returning from across the Narrow Sea (the Targaryens, not the socks). Pyjamas adorned with the dire wolf of House Stark jostled for prominence. T-shirts depicting the “flayed man” banner of House Bolton were arranged in a riotous panorama. It was as though the Great Tourney of Harrenhal had relocated to south Dublin. In April 2019, a week before the final season arrived, I was walking through Dublin’s Dundrum Town Centre and happened to pass a Penney’s window display. The moment Game of Thrones eclipsed the sun and reached peak cultural saturation is engraved in my mind.

Game of thrones universe