After being tasked with finding the pulse of the city, several thoughts came immediately to mind: the flow of the Shannon river that winds through Limerick, the tolling of the St. Mary’s bells, the hum of tyres on tarmac, the roar of the crowd. But then I thought: a pulse is something we don’t hear unless we listen carefully. It’s always there, but drowned out by everyday sounds. So I went out into my back garden at night, to hear what was beneath the usual hubbub. I stood in the semi-darkness at exactly midnight, huddled for warmth in exactly zero degrees. And what I found, most of all, was myself.