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.