Cold mountain

St. Agnes' Eve - Ah bitter chill it was!

It really is the Eve of St. Agnes (I studied that Keats' poem for English A Level - thirty years ago, yikes - and always think of it around this time of year).  And it has been pretty much bitter chill.  Not according to the thermometer - this afternoon it crept down slowly from the mid-40s to the low 30sF, which compared to recent temperatures is not that cold - but skiing down a mountain into a brisk wind and with the sun behind threatening clouds, it felt as cold as it ever has.

Nevertheless, between us we skied hard.  My instructor tells me I did well today, and apart from losing all sensation in my fingers and toes I did quite enjoy myself.  The kids were up and down, up and down the mountain I don't know how many times.  The Girl was wearing a new bright orange jacket, so she was easy to spot as I scanned the slopes from the chair-lift.  And the Boy, as ever, could also always be spotted a mile off, doggedly snow-ploughing along.