Mad.

Yesterday morning when we went to play squash it was -10. On the way home it was -8.5. Yesterday evening coming back from a night with Mike in Retek utca, it was, bizarrely, only -5. This morning, the snow arrived and the temperature has been hovering between -11 and -8. I bravely set off to walk a kilometre or two to pick up a poster print I'd ordered (although I now realise the size I ordered is bigger than the frame!), only to discover that the shop doesn't open until 10am on Saturdays (which I would have realised had I not been up and moving before my natural awakening-time). In order not to waste the fact that I was out and moving I was wandering along the banks of the Danube snapping the little that was visible through the snow, when I was startled by an odd sound. Yes, that's right, a team of runners zooming swiftly past. The noise, incidentally, was the sound of their ligaments popping. Running in temperatures like these? Mad.