Where I stood, freezing my toes off

More often than not, this is how the Plymouth Ice Festival goes for me.   The temperatures dip dangerously low, and the weathermen give lots of warnings about frostbite and such.   I decide that after many years in Plymouth, I’ve seen enough carved ice and I will stay home and warm, even though it’s just a few blocks away.   Then someone, a good friend or family member, calls and says they are in Plymouth and don’t I want to meet them at the festival.   This time it was Julia, and I did go down (she bribed me with a promise of beer) and look at the ice.   Very quickly.   I did manage to snap a few photo’s for proof.

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