So the snows have come with a vengeance and in November too! Liz suggested that we had some sprouts for Sunday lunch, a snowy frosty Sunday lunch. So off I trotted wrapped in far too few clothes... will I never learn? The sprouts were standing there, last of the white fly frozen to the leaves in a state of what seemed suspended animation! And so to the knife to cut the stalk. Ah I'd forgotten it. I'd have to dig them up. Ah the shed keys, well I'd grabbed the wrong keys on the way out of the house, and so I thought a show of brute force and a big hearty tug would free the stalks, but no such luck... the ground was rock hard. Eventually with a good deal of wiggling and bending (the stalk too) two delightful stalks of delicious sprouts for lunch. Liz was pleased, although the whole operation had taken far longer than it should. As did cutting the sprouts off the stalk, they were frozen and by the end of it all so were my hands. If the knife had slipped, I don't think I would have noticed, so numb were the old digits. Lunch was very delicious by the way.