Frost

While not many flights are pleasant, last night's trip back to London was, for some reason, worse than usual. It seemed we had many more stupid people on the plane than is typical. You know the type, people (often religious) who spend way too much time arranging their bags in the overhead compartment while blocking the aisles, men (often religious) who obsess about placing their hats in the lest efficient way taking up way more room than is needed, families (often religious) that have way more children than the parents (often just the mother) can possibly control, people (often religious) that just don't smell so fresh. The plane landed at Heathrow Terminal 1, just a little late, but there was an aircraft parked at our gate, so we had to move. I have never in all my travelling had to walk so far from the gate to the terminal, never. I got home around midnight.

It was cold this morning when I woke. I took Roxy out to the copse around 6:45am and this is what it looked like.

Yes, indeed, that is frost on the ground. The crunch, crunch of the frozen grass, is quite pleasing. Roxy just loves this kind of weather and was friskier than ever, running up and down, bringing me all sorts of sticks and branches for inspection. Apparently this is the first frost of the winter. The car's thermometer read 0 degrees on the way into work, and I had to scrape ice off the windscreen. It's a little different from the 28 degrees C in Tel Aviv yesterday.