As you read this, we are on the brink of Brexit.
Or in other news, it’s Friday and probably raining a bit and - hoorah - the last day of dry January and other new-year punishments we inflict upon ourselves.
Much like the threatened Millennium Bug which, in 1999, was feared to bring down the entire of civilisation as we know it though even nothing much happened, Brexit Day is likely to be a damp squib.
It will probably dawn with a big sigh of relief from every side of the debate, if only because it’s finally happened and we are still here.
Not, of course, because anything will any clearer or its impact will immediately be apparent - the argument, huffing and puffing will no doubt go on.
Not in the European parliament obviously, where the last day of proceedings involving the UK involved tears from our imminently unemployed MEPs and a lot of Euro eye-rolling from representatives of other countries who will probably issue a declaration banning the B word.
The reality is we don’t yet know what it means to be Brexited - everything up to this point has been guess work, projection, anger, celebration, fear and hope.
No matter how much planning has gone in, how much rejoicing or how much loud resentment, it’s here and much like the people of Lancashire when our reporter vox-popped them on the subject this very week, the nation is sighing in exasperation, thoroughly bored to tears with the subject and just wants to get on with it.
Whatever IT is.
This is sort of siege mentality the British are renowned for.
There will be plenty of time to hash it over again when we are standing in the non-EU citizen queue at various travel destinations around the globe after all.
As we cautiously tread the next few days, weeks and months, we will find out what it really means to go it alone as a small island in a big sea and world- and there will be equal celebration and commiseration.
What we do know - however this pans out - is that it will probably still be rainy.
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