Exit route

Today was the Journée Citoyenne in our Commune, where everyone* gathers in the village, tidies the place up, then has a nice meal together.

And so I dragged my Brexit-broken body out of bed way too early and headed up there to weed for four hours. It was a reasonably sociable time, and feeling useful took my mind off the other stuff.

However, the other stuff was the reason I laid down a three line whip for family attendance at the community meal afterwards. If only continuing to be a citizen of Europe was as simple as enduring a perfectly pleasant meal in good company under a mulberry tree... but it feels like step one, and therefore a positive thing.

I am currently burying my head about the impossibility of some of the hurdles in the way.

More conversations with Mr B about it all, and we're both beginning to move on from 'I can't believe it's happened' (anyone know what comes after denial?) Having, as we do, a marriage built largely on the joy of conflict (left/right, constitution/not, penne/fusilli), it is odd to find ourselves vehemently agreeing with each other.

I accidentally read some of the Daily Mail today, and just wanted to weep. Is that maybe the next stage? Anyway, plans are afoot. It may be that none of them work, but it will keep me busy while everything is being demolished.

* Obviously, like in every community, I mean just the usual suspects.