When icicles hang by the wall
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail
And Tom bears logs into the hall
And milk comes frozen home in pail.
From From Love's Labours Lost, Act V. Sc. II by William Shakespeare
Well, I don't know about Dick the shepherd, or Tom bearing logs, but we've certainly go icicles by the dozen at the moment. These ones are about 20 feet above ground, precariously hanging over our back door. We try not to slam the door too hard.
They're there because on Friday morning on my way to work I saw a temperature of minus eight degrees. A colleague saw minus eleven on his way to work. Brrr.