We'd waited excitedly all night for the heavy new snow. It was still falling as we got on the first lift of the day, big wet flakes.

At the top we were among the twenty or so first to brave Venturon with it's virgin cover of deep powder. It was awesome and tough. Today I have wiped out more times than the rest of the week put together. I have been buried to the waist in snow, nearly lost my skis altogether, stretched my knees past their normal breaking point and fallen head first into the snow giggling because I couldn't stand up for the third time.

I learnt to powder ski, following the tight turns of Meg who is as graceful as I am clumsy on these planks of wood. Knees together and bouncy, turning on the top of every mogul we make it down controlled and elegant even if it burnt our thighs like crazy. At lunch we could barely climb the stairs to the restaurant, wincing with the effort of it all.

Later I was alone on the piste, the only one foolish enough to try one last run in the whiteout which followed lunch. There is no rule which says these monstrous mountains can be tamed every day. And limits to everyone. I could barely see which way was down let alone the route or the bumps in front of me. I sat exhausted in the snow unwilling to continue and wondered idly how long it would take the snow to completely cover me. Not long, I discovered, coated in white, before I made a final dash for home, every rut and bump jarring my weary legs and feet. But a grin on my face.

Happy New Year to all. I'll let you know how the party goes...

Considering I've just come back from the Middle East, going for a Turkish Bath with my dad and brother-in-law-to-be in my home town of Harrogate was a little ironic. I grew up in our "spa town" with Turkish Baths a regular feature though and once was a fully paid up member of the Yorkshire Electricity Engineers' Turkish Bath club which made monthly visits in the summer and which wasn't, despite the obvious possibilities, a hang-out for homosexuals. At least I don't think it was.

The baths themselves easily could be. It's single sex - all men in our case - unless you come for a mixed session where swimsuits and an opposite sex-partner are mandatory accessories. In the men-only session, swim shorts are frowned upon and so it's "tackle out". Most of us wander around, stinking hot, looking generally like large rubber sacks full of water, trying to pretend it's usual to see men lying prone in their nudity on hot marble slabs while steam rises around them. Men wander freely, their genitals swinging like old socks full of marbles.

It's a strangely surreal but relaxing experience. The startling reality of jumping naked into a freezing plunge pool at 4'C only just enough to jump us out of the heavy slumber induced by sitting in rooms of steadily hotter air or the eucalyptus-flavoured steam room. But it feels good as it first shrinks your skin around you, tingling icy cold and then becomes bearable as the circulation adapts to exclude your extremities.

I feel younger, relaxed and snug as we walk home in the cold Christmas night air.

We got up at 1.30am. The purpose? To climb Mount Sinai. The highest peak in Egypt, a modest 2,600m tall. This is the place where it is thought that Moses received the ten commandments from God, although there seems to be some contention over whether what we climbed actually is that place - it seems nobody made a map which survived since then....

Whatever, we got up, put on as many layers of clothes as we could and set off in the freezing darkness.

This was to be a "climb to the top ready to see the sunrise" kind of tourist extravaganza. More than 100 tourists make the "pilgrimage" every day and the opportunities for commercial selling are not lost on the local Bedouins. There are 295 qualified "guides" and only 25 of them are allow to climb each day - on a strict rota system. Hence an individual guide gets only 2 or 3 climbs per month in which to make an income for his loyal band of camel herders, family and friends. The main commercial opportunities? Camel rides at E£60 one-way are the most lucrative. Followed closely by tea and hot-chocolate stops every 100 metres. Everyone else seems to think tourists really want to buy polished marble eggs and figurines while they're climbing a mountain - the sort that look like they've been shipped from China. Finally at the top there's a never-ending franchise selling mattresses and blankets to those tourists who failed to appreciate how cold it would actually be on top.

I decided to walk all the way and it was a good choice - those sitting on the camels got cold. It was about 4 hours of walking in total - not difficult but steep in some places. The full moon provided ample light to find a way. And the sight of camels silhouetted against it on a ridge far above was a magical one which sadly didn't quite come out strongly in the photos.

As we neared the top we joined our cold camel-riding group and walked the final 750 steps together in procession - only now realising how many people there were who'd made it.

Then we sat, in the freezing cold at 6am waiting for the faintest glimmer of light to pop over the horizon. Waiting for the heat of the sun to breathe life into the barren, rockscape below us.

The sunrise was beautiful though and worth the climb and the wait. The barren moonscape was turned into magnificent pink-hued crags which made the journey down even more impressive than up.

At every turn, there was a man trying to flog a camel or a marble egg. Quite brilliantly tenacious salesmanship was displayed - small, bronzed Bedouin shouting "10 Pounds for photo", when I snapped these camels chewing the cud in the sunshine. What do the camels think of their crazy, nightly run up the mountain - sometimes with fat tourist, sometimes without? Who knows.

The Pyramids are beautiful and awe-inspiring. My journey to see them though, was spoilt by the forces of commercialism triumphing over tourism...

Dear Tourist Board of Egypt

I like your country. I had a great time. I came to Cairo to visit and spend my hard foreign currency. I'd heard about the amazing pyramids, felt sure they could hardly live up to their hyped status as "Wonder of the World" but wanted to see them with my own two eyes.

I didn't mind that the taxi driver I hailed in the street drove a busted-up Lada with blue smoke pouring from the back and the door hanging off. I didn't mind at all that he couldn't speak English - he understood my two hands making a /\ symbol which means "take me to the pyramids" in any language on Earth. I didn't mind that it took 30 minutes of the craziest driving in the world to get to the point, in the suburbs of Giza where the tops of the pyramids are visible through the satellite-dish encrusted roofs of your chaotic, crazy and lively city. I didn't even mind, when, stopping at a traffic light just before the pyramids two men jumped in the back of my taxi and in good English welcomed me to your country. Although my heart sank then.

I did mind that these two idiots then proceeded to hijack my taxi, take me to the "main entrance" (which apparently is a small hole in a concrete wall designed for camels with tourists on to squeeze through illegally) and tried to flog me a camel ride by coming up with various excuses as to why the gates were closed to me on foot but magically open to me on a camel.

I did mind that even when I insisted that there must be a "mainer" main entrance and they took me to the "back entrance" from where tourists were streaming in their hundreds on foot, that more touts there and even some of the police guards all continued with the illusion and made it seem like my only chance to see your wonderful monuments was strapped to the back of an animal which smelt like an old carpet, was likely ill-looked after by these thugs and would cost me E£60 without any kind of official entrance fee or ticket.

Should I have caved in at this point, paid my money and taken a camel ride? Probably, for my own enjoyment, yes. Should I have, to spite them all, stood stubbornly while the sun set quickly behind the magnificent Sphinx, extracted a few moments of silence from their incessant squabbling over me, taken some photos and then stormed back to the taxi, determined to deny myself the experience just to show them that hijacking tourists' taxis and misleading them is not a practice which is to be encouraged? What would you have done in my place?

For me and for a moment, 5,000 years of history ebbed away and I glimpsed what it might have been like before touts and taxis, enforced camel rides, opening times, walking routes and pamphlets, vistors' centers and on-site toilets detracted from the magesty of what was built here. And then it was another 30 minutes back to my hotel. No money for the touts, despite their begging afterwards - they had only their wasted time to show for their efforts.

Someday, I might come back to your country and stand a while longer. I might even take a camel. I might even get to pay the entrance fee. But please understand why your official entrance hall did not get my custom this time and do something about it. Magnificence is to be preserved and sadly in this case, Giza was cheapened by tourist terrorisation.

Back, in Harrogate, what feels like a world away from the Middle East.
You can see some of my favourite pictures here.
And here's a visual set:

It is just about impossible to describe how amazing this ancient, protected city is. It was carved from the sandstone rockface around 100 BC to 100 AD in incredible detail and elegance. 35000 people lived here, taking tolls from passing caravans and trading prices and exotic from nearby ports.

The size of the place and it's unique style have to be seen.

Come to Jordan.

Today we took jeeps out into the desert at Wadi Rum. Incredible sandstone rocks rising out of the sand dunes. Sipped cinnamon tea in a goat hair tent and saw 2000 year old hieraglyphs.

Now on the road to Petra.

I've been suprised at how easy it's been to blog about my journey in the Middle East, so far entirely from my mobile phone - which is all I have with me. There seems to be a problem with the line spacing which I'll correct as soon as I can log in from a real PC. The photos though (taken only on my phone's camera) seem to have come out brilliantly. And i've only had one day - in the middle of the desert - when I couldn't get service to connect and post an update.

The revolution in personal and amateur publishing is here.

The ferry to Aqaba in Jordan.

It is our pleasure to arrive in a very civilised Jordan after a day which began this morning at one thirty....

We got up to climb Mount Sinai and watch the sunrise from the summit. It was a great experience, assisted by the local Bedouins determined not to see a good commercial opportunity pass them by - with camels on hand for the weary, not to mention got chocolate, blankets and mattresses at the top. Naturally we declined all such offers and huddled together at the top in the bitter wind at six am, waiting for the run to bring life to the barren moonscape beneath us.

It came and warmed us and the views on the way down were fabulous.

More to follow.

Stopped at this staging post on the way to Mount Sinai. Breathtaking views of the Red Sea on one side and these mountains on the other. It's hotter than I expected although it'll get colder the higher we go.

Long day on the bus but the delights of a turkish bath await us.

Grainy photo of downtown Cairo, taken from a river boat cruise replete with belly dancers and terrible singers.:-)

Dad sent me this picture of my Grandad taken during the war. The likeness to both me and my dad is extraordinary.

During the war he was an engineer in the air force and spent time in Egypt. It's funny to think of him here all those years ago and to think how things must have changed.

The family face hasn't changed much.

Dinner in Alexandria is a simple but delicious affair. It's been a day of errands. A haircut, shave and head massage was the highlight and now I look like a US marine - not knowing the Arabic for that's enough....

Been to the bank, internet cafe, bought two new shirts to make up for th appalling lack of judgement I showed when I packed on Saturday in a hurry.

Had my walking boots polished and bought a new belt. Not bad for a day in a crazy new city. Starting to get used to it all. Funny being surrounded by a language I can't even make out the odd word of and standing out like a sore thumb with my blonde hair. Very few other Westerners around.

Back to Cairo tomorrow and the tour begins.

The view from my hotel balcony of the coastal city of Alexandria on the mediterranian. Pretty tired after a long drive and not much sleep. But it's beautiful anyway.

This morning I also took a tour of the National Museum and the Catacombs - these are quite incredible caves carved out of sandstone and in which bodies used to be buried in small stone holes all piled on top of each other.

One thing I'm struggling to get used to is baksheesh - the back handers which must be paid for seemingly every service rendered. I'm constantly thinking about where I'm going to get small change from and wondering how much to give. Is a driver better than a bell hop? By how much? How much to give the guide? All very strange.

I'm going to be blogging my progress in the Middle East over the next few days. Fortunately I can do this by phone.

I haven't got very far. My mad dash from Germany this morning - by all means of transport - left me just minutes from missing my flight to Cairo, although a last minute shop for a new jacket didn't help...

Now the flight is delayed and my tour of European boarding lounges is wearing thin.

My Grandad tells me I have the smell of burning camel dung to look forward to when I arrive. Hope Cairo has moved on a bit since he was there.

The beautiful Bruderkirche in Kassel, Germany. Sideways on. Partied hard.

The party finished at 2.30am. There was music and dancing, cocktails and wine. Beautiful madchen and inspiring speeches. I even spoke some German.

Clearly knowing I had to get up at 4.30am didn't prevent me from partying, instead I had to resist the urge to go on clubbing afterwards.

When the alarm went off this morning, I felt like a new born baby - thrust prematurely into a harsh world of cold and pain. My skin felt thin and my lungs tight. It wasn't the best preparation for another stint on the icy Autobahn with the heavy fog of Hesse obscuring the way. From the train though, now back in Blighty, East Anglia looks a picture: in white with a hoar frost covering everything.

No matter, the cold and the tired shall be banished. The chaos of Cairo awaits.:-)

I'm in Germany. Again. I'm here on a two day trip to do some training and to represent our company at the celebration of our sister company in Germany who having been acquired by us have just become part of the group. Exciting times. Great for them and great for us. They're a really good company.

I hired a car to drive from Paderborn to the office - it turned out to be a big Volvo estate (those who know the history - a secret dream of mine), which was just perfect at 120mph on the Autobahn. Germany is so civilised.

The car also came with satellite navigation - which I've never used before - wow that's great. It's advanced significantly above my expectations of how useful it would be. It made the experience of driving in a foreign country to a new destination completely relaxing.

So it was just me, the quite sexy-sounding sat-nav girl and the Volvo as we drove through the misty German countryside. As is customary with a boy-girl driving-navigation team, we had at least one short-lived argument when she told me to turn right and it was quite obviously left. Girls! Fortunately she was very forgiving when I did turn left and adjusted to the new situation quickly. She even didn't mind when I stopped at a petrol station, bought some chocolate and didn't give her any.

I was out with Chris tonight. Amongst other things, he recognised as "absolutely disgraceful" the realisation that despite us (me) having a very significant pool of friends, none of them (bar one isolated incident I can recall) have yet managed to produce from their friends or friends of friends, a single eligible female who might be interested in spending even an evening with the author... It's something which has been weighing on my mind recently.

All of these friends are by now, shockingly, either married or very-well-hitched and seem to me to be smugly enjoying their married bliss whilst secretly living a vicarious single life, admittedly rendered dull by my lack of success, through my various comedy internet dating stories.

So, anyway, I thought it high time and rather valuable and interesting to start a social experiment to see whether the reach of this blog itself could haul in, however explicitly requested, any connections to single females who might be blonde, attractive, intelligent, late-twenties or early-thirties and fancy a cheeky date or two with the author. If I'm six degrees of separation away from anyone on the planet (including Keeley Hawes for example - see article below) then I damn well ought to be only one or two degrees of separation away from my future wife. Bear that in mind and help out if you can.

I found out that there are mums of friends and even grandmas of friends who already count themselves amongst my readership - word of mouth is a more powerful thing than we realise.

I can't promise recipients of this experiment any more than one date, but I do promise that if they get more than one date, it'll (they'll/I'll) be worth it.

Let me know. I'm out of the country for a bit so keep them hanging on until January and then release the lucky things upon me in a torrent...

My old mate Dan Taylor shocked all of his friends when he announced in 2003 that he and his lovely girlfriend Vicky had purchased a piece of land in Argentina and were sacking in their jobs in London and heading out there to "build a house and grow grapes". Those that knew him from his days consulting with blue-chip clients and generating "hockey-stick" business models with exponential projections during the dot-com boom, wondered exactly which part of his skillset Dan was intending to rely on when he arrived in Argentina with a small shack for a home and an inherited donkey.

But we received cheery emails from them both during their stay and began to feel more and more envious of their "good life" lifestyle in the sun.

Now Dan and Vic, who survived their stint as vitiviniculturalists, are married, have returned to the UK and have seen fit to share a small part of the fun of owning a vineyard with anyone who wants to try it. They've set up PrivateVines a business which allows you to buy a row of vines or a barrel in which to have your own wine made.

“Rent a row of vines in Argentina for one year and enjoy upto 8 cases of quality wine from your own grapes”

Enjoy your personal New World wine through ‘ownership’ of a row of 30 vines in the increasingly renowned Mendoza province of Argentina.

Learn the intricacies of vine growing in Mendoza with our informative quarterly newsletters, which will tell you all about the vitiviniculture process, as well as keeping you up-to-date on your own vines.

Share the excitement of harvest time with the anticipation of receiving your case of 12 privately labelled bottles of Finca DamaJuana 2005 Cabernet Sauvignon.

As an ‘owner’ you will enjoy discounts throughout the year on our exclusive wine list, and have the option to purchase additional cases of your privately labelled wine.

All of this for just £99

Sounds like a great idea to me. I've got my row already. Spread the news. Get your own Private Row.