Oh no! It's finally referendum day. Decision time.
Nobody with a brain above their shoulders wants to be even partially controlled by some ageing bureaucrat from Luxembourg sitting, oh so comfortably, in his Brussels lair.
But on the other hand, nobody can deny that we are Europeans, that we have enjoyed the fruits of a common market and that we have far more in common with a hard working German than a bible belt American with an automatic rifle.
Coming to some sort of decision, therefore, is more than a bit testing for the old brain cells, as Wooster would have said to Jeeves.
But, rain notwithstanding, a decision must be made. Votes cast. An X plopped in the appropriate box.
I don't like Brussels anymore than dear old Nige, but I do like Europe.
I feel more at home in France, frankly, than in The Lake District. And far more content in Barcelona than somewhere like Glasgow.
My daughter just spent a year working in Paris, my son worked in Austria for a couple of years; their horizons are way beyond the little channel 'Leavers' seem to set so much store by.
I'm pleased to see that our children simply don't recognise borders in the same way we used to. And nor should they if we ever want the world to be a better, safer place.
So I'm in.
I hope most of you are too.