The reinforcements have arrived to to help the battle weary Brexiteers of Princess Street, Edinburgh. Semi-crippled, fat bastard me is still there, in my Mexican guayabera shirt with weather to finally justify wearing it. The lady on my right, in the red, is an Australian who wants to know why she, her husband and their family have to get visas to work in the UK when they are part of the British diaspora.
The couple behind her are the latest volunteers with family in the New Commonwealth. More and more of them are coming onside because they are outraged that their families cannot visit them, but any old Pole, Hungarian or Spaniard can come and go as he pleases.
The two young fellows standing behind me, next to Tom the organiser of our motley crew, are students who have just finished their exams and are now raring to stand in the Brexit line.
There were another half dozen or so volunteers who were not in the shot as they were a hundred yards or so on either side of the stall, handing out leaflets, chatting to the people and trying to direct them to us to collect more information, along with badges, pens and the rest. We almost ran out of lapel badges yesterday, which was a first for our stall.
To anyone south of the River Tweed who is reading this I say relax: leave Scotland to us and you make sure that England and Wales turn out for the Good Old Cause.