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I was undecided whether to make anything today. I fancied spending all day playing on my Playstation but that really wouldn't be a good way to finish off an excellent year. The strong cold winds of yesterday had abated so I headed off again to Ribblesdale to play in the snow. It had snowed some more and there was new powder on top of the frozen crust and the mountains looked so very beautiful. This time I took a direct route to where I was going to set up. This seemed like a sensible plan until I sunk one leg up to my knee in a stream, hidden by the snow, only for the cold water to find it's way down the top of my boot. Fortunately I had on my ice climbing boots and they are nice and warm. Rabbits were skipping about on top of the fresh snow and I was surprised to see a jet black one looking like a rabbit shaped hole cut out in the snow. They soon scarpered as I approached. I had no idea what I was going to make so I set about checking out the condition of the snow to see whether that would spark any ideas. I opened my rucksack and realised I hadn't brought a jacket with me and I was going to get cold. Ever resourceful I pulled out my bothy bag (like a tarp) and my fold up seat. I stuffed the latter down the front of my trousers so that it felt like a bullet proof vest and I wrapped the former around my shoulders before zipping my top over them both. Ray Mears/Bear Grylls/Bush Tucker man/Chuck Norris (delete as applicable) would be proud of me! Then I set about making something. Engrossed as I was in what I was doing I didn't notice the two gentleman approaching me until they were right upon me. I get a bit precious about freshly fallen snow and don't want anybody to take it's virginity. These two guys walked straight towards me leaving a trail in the fresh powder and I muttered to myself about how they were soiling my snow. That's right MY snow! The first of the pair got closer and I said:- 'Hello' 'Hello' he said back. 'What the 'eck are you doing?' He enquired. You see, Ribblesdale is in Yorkshire. 'I'm making a snow sculpture.' 'Different' he replied. My partner uses the word 'different' to describe food I have cooked for her that she doesn't particularly like. The second guy came up behind the first and send to his mate 'what is he doing?' 'Making a snow sculpture.' 'Doing what?' 'Making a snow sculpture' he repeated. 'Oh, a snow culture I see.' No I don't know what snow culture is either, something to do with skiing perhaps? 'Have a good day' they both chimed together and were on their way. After trying a few different things I decided to start on what you can see here. Sentinel seemed an apt name but magnet would be another. As it seemed to be drawing people in my direction. A family group were obviously intrigued as to what I was doing and I could see them gawping at me from where they were sledging. After a while they climbed up the slope to see what I was making. I won't bore you with all the conversation but here are some edited highlights. The dad got to me first and stood proud on a rock like a mountain goat who had found the highest vantage point. He bellowed to his two sons 'go left there boys.' 'Why?' They shouted back. 'Because there is a big hole in front of you.' This was like a red rag to a bull and they went straight towards it, just to have a look. 'DON'T!!' their dad shouted at quite some decibels. At this point I nearly knocked the sculpture off it's perch as I jumped out of my skin. It is so peaceful out in the wilds. As one of the lads got closer, he must have been about 8, he asked me how long I had been making it. 'Three or four hours, something like that' I told him. 'Not long then' he replied as he trudged off in the snow. Well, seeing as I was wearing rubber gloves with no insualtion and my fingers were frozen, three hours seemed like plenty thank you! Then the mum asked me what I was going to call it. I said 'I haven't thought of anything yet but it does look a bit like a kebab?' (see below for the snow donner in it's early stages). Off they all trudged, the magnet had done it's work and now I was left to get on with it again. When it was at about 3/4 height (it was about 5 foot tall) I started to sculpt it into the shape I wanted as I didn't want to add more weight as I feared it would fall over. Gently I carved the shape and rubbed powder into it to smooth out it's surface. As I collected powder from round and about the boulders I dumped it by it's base and smeared on handfuls just like applying wet clay to a clay sculpture. I stood on the boulder it was built on ready to attack the top section, all of sudden my foot slipped and my weight went into the sculpture, cracking it around the base. I put my arms around it to keep it upright, swore under my breath, and pani

In 1972 I stayed in the Jain Hotel in Khajuraho, India. This is what I wrote at the time: “We moved into a small hotel run by a Jain family. It was perfectly adequate – clean, secure, nice clean lavatory and shower, beds infested with bed bugs. The family lived in a rudimentary wicker hut behind the hotel in complete simplicity, cooking on a wood fire set in a hole in the earth floor, washing from a single brass tap outside, sleeping on simple string beds. The father was very friendly and polite. There were ventilator holes in the hotel reception front wall through which horrible brown wasp-like insects would come at night. He had placed small neon light tubes and tins on the edge of the ventilators exactly so that when an insect hit the tube it fell into the tin and the tin was too narrow for it to take off. In the morning he would liberate the insects taking great care not to hurt them. He had three daughters of between, say, seven and eleven. They adored us, watching and giggling at everything we did. We called them “The Supremes”. Simple though their life was, a lot of attention was given to their education, and they had wonderful personalities.” I photographed the girls. 37 years later, again in Khajuraho I found the now much bigger Jain Hotel. It was now run by the son (Mr Jain had died 6 years previously) who had been a baby when I was there. I downloaded the picture into his computer. He was so surprised he didn’t know what to do, so we excused ourselves and moved on. Next day I was near the hotel and he rushed out, saying his mother wanted to meet us. I was ushered into a very rudimentary living area at the back of the hotel. The old mother was asleep on a cot. I was asked to sit and eat little milk sweets. His wife stationed their 11 year old son next to me to translate questions and answers. I loved they way she playfully interrogated me, as nice as her previous generation. She told me the three girls had gone to university and were now married to successful business men. One girl had done law and ended up something high in politics but I couldn’t work out what that was. Eventually the old woman woke up, but couldn’t cope, so went back to sleep. But after a bit she woke up properly, sat up and looked at me. They reminded her who I was, and she took the photograph from under her pillow, and sat there smiling at it. I had forgotten her, but recognised her now – she had been beautiful (Jain women tend to be for some reason - maybe it's all that contemplation leads a man to select a beautiful woman who in turn produces beautiful daughters). I was greatly moved by it all, a perfect circle completed.