There is an interminable wait until the nation gets to choose whether they like the lies that the "Better off Out" or "Stronger In" sides are using to batter the public into doing what they want.
The 23rd of June seems like an age away. It will certainly feel like that as we are assailed every day from now on with scare stories and threats and promises of green grass or eternal damnation.
The intimidation and cajoling from the doom mongers and nay sayers will be a gauntlet that we have to plod through before we get to the point when the losing side will call it a fix and demand a re-vote.
The economy will fall or fly, society will crumble or coalesce and the future is bright or benighted. Other alliterations are available.
One outcome of an out vote has not had much discussion. Possibly, the public is unaware. The issue is a serious one and it involves people coming to this country and it is happening already.
The uncertainty of the referendum's outcome is causing a rush of incomers from places like France and Spain, Greece and Italy. They are coming at the rate of 100 every day. They are tanned and comfortably shod and they are complaining almost constantly.
They are the British ex-pats who decided that they preferred to spend their retirement where the sun shines but have heard they might not get health care if Britain leaves the EU, and they are rushing back to form an orderly, misanthropic queue at the GP's.
France has already said that Britons abroad will not get free health treatment if there is a Brexit. Not all of France, of course, just one French minister, and he said it in French so it sounded like an invitation to a romantic assignation.
When it was translated to the Sidneys and Enids on the Costa del Sol, those that had them in spat their dentures out.
We, who stayed in Blighty, are about to be overwhelmed with incomers. We, who stayed to make this country what it is today are about to be subsumed in a wave of sun kissed elderly sourpusses who will be furious at having to suffer the weather here just to get a hip replacement and a prostate check.
They will trundle back on their Motability scooters and pour their ire over everyone that has been suffering over here, while they have been over there, enjoying themselves.
On their return, they will say things like: "Well, I'd forgotten how cold it is...and grey, and we can't make paella like they do in Spain and the beer's all warm, and the coffee's like water and it doesn't stop raining, and the bread tastes like cardboard and the sea is freezing and the beer's warm and you can't get tapas here and the sherry is so expensive and the cold is playing havoc with my knees and the sun never comes out and the beer's warm and I miss sitting out at night and you don't get the sunsets here and you could avoid the Brits in Spain but they're everywhere in Margate and the restaurants are so pricey and have you seen the cost of houses and you can't get those nice cheeses and the buses are full of foreigners and the pasta tastes funny and why can't you get nice pastries here and the beer's warm and it never stops raining. Still, mustn't grumble."
It is not too late. We must build a wall. Maybe Donald Trump could get the Mexicans to pay for it.