25th August 2017
Here is a picture of my garden in Germany, a house I bought almost on a whim, last year, before the referendum, as the pound started falling. I sat in my house, a house that had always felt like a home, in the wee small hours as the referendum results rolled in. One in two people voted out, they say. How do they feel here, in my little village? Do one in two of my neighbours think the Brits should go home? Spring rolled around. I bought a garden bench – a cheap one. Perhaps they won’t let me stay. Is there any point in planting long-term plants? We drifted into summer. My neighbour brings me lettuces, beans from her garden. This is a holiday region – I wish more of my friends would visit and enjoy it – the walks, the river, the views. They visit. It rains. They don’t understand the museums because they’re all in German. My neighbour brings me cucumbers. I sit on my bench and watch my own garden grow. Raspberries, grapes, beans, peas. I earn money. I keep my paperwork up to date. I plan to hire a tax consultant – I don’t want to make any mistakes. I don’t want them to have any reason to send me back. “We’re leaving – if you don’t like it, get out”, hiss the Twitter leavers. Oh, I say, I’m trying, I’m really trying. The sunflowers bloom. My neighbour brings me tomatoes.
Mair’s is just one of the postcards we have received! You can read them all here.
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