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As temperatures plunge below zero, Morris has to contend with hyperactive huskies, frostbite and a dodgy palmtop pc. At least the paperclips come in handy.

... But is that hope on the horizon?
... Not exactly!

Paperclips truly are the universal tool, the stationary equivalent of the Swiss army knife - capable of any task.

I'm becoming quite attached to the pack of huskies that are pulling me across Alaska. I was told the names of the dogs when I hired them, but after a day I've forgotten them all, so I've renamed them after famous Salopians.

Clive of India had a bit of a fight with Christopher Timothy earlier and I had to separate them with a tree branch. Thomas Telford urinated on Percy Thrower. Percy retaliated by trying to mount him and Sandy Lyle MBE ate all my mints.

I've been trying to head north and should have come across a township by now. However, all I've come across for the last couple of days is snow, ice, trees and what I think was a life-size replica of Much Wenlock Library encased in ice, but I was very cold and tired when I saw that and it might just have been a hill.

Mostly its just snow.

The Huskies seemed to know where they were going, so I pretty much left them to it. I think that I may have overestimated their canine navigation skills.

The dogs were still strapped together, so perhaps they think I'm still being towed behind them. They might come back when they notice I'm missing. I hope I'm not expecting too much of them.

I'm going to wait.

I'm still waiting.

I don't think they are coming back.

I let Sandy Lyle MBE go in the early hours. I'm sleepy with the cold and that made me think of my Star Wars duvet cover at home in Moreton Say.

I started looking at Sandy and thinking of the start of The Empire Strikes Back where Luke Skywalker keeps warm by cutting open his Tauntaun. Then I started trying to make a light sabre out of paperclips, but fortunately I came to my senses and thought I'd better let the dog go before I get any more Jedi delusions.

He was whining and uneasy anyway and I thought he probably stood a better chance on his own. I cut him free and he shot off into the white night like a number four iron drive with a headwind.

I hope he finds his own doggy equivalent of Shropshire.

Just before dawn I saw a light in the distance and left my sled behind to stumble towards it. I thought it might be a passing snowmobile, or a small building, or just a fire surrounded by burly but friendly Alaskans with hot tasty snacks and a hospitable nature.

After about an hour I realised it was just the sun rising. That was a bit of a disappointment. I've lost my sled now too.

"Lost Hope, Alaska, population -34"

It's a lovely little place, a bit like Ellesmere but without the pub restaurant or ducks.

I don't like the name though. You can lose your money, your self-respect, your mind, your signed photograph of Carol Vorderman, your hearing, your hair or your favourite bingo marker; but hope is the one thing you must never lose.

I've misplaced mine a couple of times, but it's always turned up. The secret is to think of the last place you had it.

The population is stated as minus 34 on the sign. Apparently they have had more deaths than births now for 137 consecutive years.

Each time someone dies they deduct one from the number on the sign, each time someone is born they add one. Somewhere along the line they lost count.

I'm starting 2004 in a little Alaskan town called "Lost Hope". I'm staying in a room above the local bar; it's quite cosy, especially compared to the divan of frozen ice I have been sleeping on.

Over the last few days I have once again hung precariously over the deep fat fryer of death, only to be left uncooked at the very last moment.

I feel quite unstoppable again now, filled to the very brim with enthusiasm. I'm committed to telling the poor frozen souls of Lost Hope that there is indeed hope left alive in the world... approximately four and a half thousand miles away, just off the M6, in the warm and welcoming bosom of Shropshire.

I rang Mother again just now, still no answer. I hope she is alright. It's not like her to leave the house for more than a few hours; she worries about the cows breaking into the kitchen and drinking from the sink.

I'll try her again tomorrow.