Two guys, a girl and a vacuum called Henry

Snow and ice and all things nice have been the order of the week in Fort William. Some fantastic snowfalls turned every open space into a playground and the local population almost doubled as snowmen sprang up everywhere. Ours was a particularly fine specimen. Complete with his snow dog and festooned in a stylish day-glow jacket (generously provided by some bored Scotland Transport workers), he left this world before his time when someone tackled him in the night.

Perhaps this sudden end was the kinder alternative. Some snowmen are still out there. All the snow around them has melted and with each day, their frost-bitten carrot noses sag a little more and their once bright button eyes increasingly take on the look of someone who knows their fate is inevitable. We bring them into this world, shape them lovingly with freezing hands, then we decide it's too wet and cold and take a few photos and go back inside. In short, we abandon them. Perhaps there needs to be a television campaign, “A snowman's not just for a snow day...” Life's certainly tough when you're made up of frozen water particles.

While I'm on the topic of inanimate objects and their ethical rights, perhaps it would be a good time to tell you about Henry. The first thing to know is don't be deceived. He looks so sweet, bashful even as he peeps at you around a corner, his fire-engine red casing as smart as they come. Then, with one tug, he's lurched at you and knocked you down the stairs. You call out for help, and he does nothing, just sits above you with his hateful pleasant expression. He's also prone to tantrums. Like us, he works seven days a week but you don't see us making a scene in the middle of the corridor. Henry will roll right over, his little wheels spinning in the air, his air tube wheezing pathetically as if to say “how can I be expected to work in these conditions?” He'll stay like that until you're forced to come and put him right. Never before have I experienced such melodrama in a vacuum cleaner.

It is mid-term here in Scotland so the hostel is packed with skiers, snowboarders and other adventurers. We've been getting into the extreme sports ourselves. Eddy and Brendan built a jump out of packed snow for our pint-sized BMX. The bored Scotland Transport workers found this even more amusing than watching us build the snowman. One of them went and fetched a shovel to help make the jump bigger. Then you should have seen Eddy and Brendan go. And come down. Sometimes on the bike, sometimes on the ground. But I'm telling you, they got air. Fort William really is the outdoor adventure capital of the UK.

A few weeks ago, Eddy and I visited what is probably the most scenic second hand car dealership in the world, Chisholms of Ballachullisch. With magnificent views out on to a sparkling loch and the fact that it is towered over by snow-capped mountains, it's like someone decided that the hobbits, elves, dwarves and men of Middle Earth needed some quality, affordably priced vehicles. And why not? I'm sure if Frodo and Gandalf watched more Top Gear, than that whole ring business could have been over much sooner. As for us, we found a car that ticked the right boxes and a few days ago, we returned to Ballachullisch and bought it. What a thrill! Being out on the open road as opposed to being on the open footpath.