Three degrees below ...
... said the car dashboard as I drove to tennis this morning. Some of the courts were too frost-laden for play, prompting good natured rivalry for those with only a hint of white sparkle. The sun, low in the winter sky, was a blinding yellow ball, making all other yellow balls little more than a blur and a swish of air. At least, that's my story.
So nice to be on the Heath on a crisp winter's morning. So nice, I'm heading back to end the daylight hours there.
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Andrew Whitehead's blog
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