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While the temperature may be many degrees below ferezing, the flame of Shropshire truth burns in Morris' heart!
Still in Anchorage, Morris meets Jimmy 'the flake' who unveils own epic quest... Meanwhile Pedro explains the joy of the humble doorway.

I went round all the press offices I could find. I spoke to editors, advertisers, publishers, columnists, photographers, receptionists and reporters... but mostly to receptionists.

No one took me up on my offer of an in-depth feature article on me, but I did manage to put a few classified ads in next week's papers.

"Unhappy? Cold? Don't worry, just move to Shropshire and all your troubles will be over. For more info contact M. Telford atÂ…." And I gave the address of Miriam's guesthouse. I hope she doesn't mind.

Before he had sobered up properly, he was on the first flight to Anchorage. Since then, Jimmy's bought a large freezer, a microscope, a nice solid shovel and begun his challenge in earnest.

Four years and several million snowflakes later, Jimmy now has a complex state-of-the-art computer-imaging library and is the northern hemisphere's premiere authority on snowflake formations.

He still hasn't found two the same though.

Jimmy admitted to me that he is now sick of the sight of snow, and dreams of the day he finds twin flakes. However, he refuses to give up looking; or cheat and pretend he's found one - and I admire that.

While the original bet was only for a tenner, Jimmy reckons he has now spent in the region of £184,000 on the project.

I suggested to him that he take a break from it all, have a few weeks in Shropshire, but he was too worried that he might miss the elusive duo he is searching for; that if he takes his eyes off the snowfall for too long, a pair of snowflake clones will sneak by without him knowing.

Unfortunately some aggressive locals (One of them dressed as Santa) couldn't handle the bare truth displayed so overtly - they took offence and forcibly removed my sign and me.

I was a bit bruised and went back to the guesthouse early, but Miriam was out and she has the only key.

I noticed a ladder in her back garden so I tried some of the upper floor windows - none of them would open.

I asked him what fascinates him so much about doors.

He told me that a doorway is a new beginning; a portal to fresh possibilities and the most exciting thing on this earth.

I told him that if he thinks doorways are the most exciting thing on earth, then he should try gingerbread, or go and see Ironbridge. Bridges are better than doors; you can see what you are getting into.

Nothing.

Not a thing.

I bet it's that window. Old Mother Shropshire probably came all the way to Alaska and was thwarted by a hermetically sealed window.

It's the last straw! I've checked myself out of the boarding house, but not before getting a crowbar to the window in my room.

It opened about half an inch and then the ceiling collapsed! The window seemed to be all that was holding up that part of the roof. Miriam really should have warned me not to open the window.

I rang Mother again.
Still no answer.

I expect she is too upset that I am not there with her over Christmas and has gone for a walk to cheer herself up.

Not one person has replied to my advert in the papers, so I've hired a sled and some dogs. I'm going to greet the New Year in the frozen wastes and try to find someone, maybe an Eskimo, who really needs to know all about Shropshire.

Anchorage is sort of at the middle bottom of Alaska. I'm going to travel north into the interior, past Fairbanks and up into the northern tip at Prudhoe Bay.

Some people might think it unwise to set out alone like this into the frozen tundra, especially without any sort of training as to how you drive a pack of Huskies. But I'm confident that I'll pick it up as I go along.