I've been lying on my back here in France for the last few days. I know you're thinking: what a lazy so-and-so, that Liz has had to go back to formerly-EU Britain to work, and there's old Bodders just kicking back, wine in hand. Tchah.

If only. I lie on my back on a four-wheeled trolley underneath Liberty, dressed in overalls and with beanie, face mask, goggles and ear-defenders, as I kick back with grinder in hand, smoothing down flaky anti-fouling. Michelangelo had it easier painting the Sistine Chapel I reckon. His was the agony and the ecstasy; mine so far is just agony.

I am also up against the weather, here in the EU, where the seven-day forecast changes as often as a Brexit MP's excuses about what he actually meant to say before the referendum. Three days ago I was looking at a forecast of seven days of sunshine with only one of showers. Yesterday it had done a Bouty McBoutface to become six of showers and only one of sunshine. Merde.

Underneath the boat isn't so bad when there are showers as it's sheltered, though I have to be careful with the power cable and connections, but the thing is Liz and I did a lot of preparation also above the waterline in readiness to repaint Liberty. And six days of showers are not what you want for doing that.

Last week I foolishly nominated this coming Friday 1 July as the day the boat would be going back in the water. Today I have changed that to Monday 4 July - perhaps more fittingly Independence Day, which will be a nice coincidence. If I can pull it off.

Going back to late September 2014 you will recall (of course you will, dear reader, for you have followed these blogs and read my book, yes? I said, YES?) that we had Liberty hauled out of the Yonne by a big old smoke-belching crane, and laid to rest on supports in the boatyard here at Migennes, a somewhat sad end to our year-long adventure.

I don't think Liz or I ever thought it would be a whole 20 months before we got her back in the water, but there you are; that's how long it's been since we triumphantly tangoed her beneath the duplicate Statue of Liberty on the Seine in Paris.

Anyway, the point is that when she came out of the water her hull was given a darned good jet-wash, the normal thing to do while your slime-coated underbelly is still wet, apparently. However, what this did was flake and delaminate a lot of the old blackening or anti-fouling on the hull, and it's this that has me 'kicking back' on my trolley (and, it has to be said, occasionally off it) smoothing the hull before it can be recoated with antifouling paint.

I am not alone however, even though Liz had to return to Blighty last week; a tiny bird has started building a nest in the hollow of one of the steel struts supporting the boat, despite the screaming of my angle-grinder. Her peripheral flitting is comforting as I try and focus on the next bit of underboat moonscape that needs sanding, and she seems determined to continue her construction regardless.

I guess we are both up against a deadline.