Hola Amigos!

Here we are, finally back in Argentina nearly 2 years since we left at the end of our last big trip.What has changed? Well Starbucks has finally arrived in Argentina, a decade after it took over the rest of the world and I have to admit I am rather looking forward to a grande skinny mocha (hold the cream) with chocolate sprinkles on the top. All I have to do now is learn how to order all that in Spanish.

Apart from that important event we seem to have arrived slap bang in the middle of yet another Argentine crisis. They really do go in for them here.

When we left, in April 2008, the country was lurching from crisis to crisis; Cristina Kirchner had raised the tax on soya beans and so the farmers had revolted by blockading roads and not allowing food into the capital.As the supermarkets emptied and I grew fearful of where my next bar of chocolate was coming from, people in the city took to the streets every evening and showed their support of the farmers by banging saucepans and kettles in a rattling and deafening din.Whilst it was entertaining for a while the fun element had worn a little tedious by the fifth night.

Eventually we left the capital and went north for a few weeks, but we returned to find the farmers had set fire to the countryside around Buenos Aires enveloping the city for days in thick black smog that singed our eyes and noses.Apparently their tactics worked and the soya tax was reduced.

So, this time?According to our man in the know (yeah, Dave) Cristina now wants to 'borrow' $600 billion dollars from the Federal Reserve to pay back the country's loans.Parliament is perhaps a little nervous of her track record, or maybe it's her taste in expensive eye-liner.

Dave has organised our accommodation so, unfortunately for us, our presence at the axis of power means living in an apartment that was last decorated in the 1970's - one wall is made up of brown and orange glass wall-bricks, and the living room contains two single beds covered in floral curtain fabric (I hope I'm not making it sound more tasteful than it really is). The electric fittings are a touch eccentric, if not downright dangerous, our bedroom has no outside light and it is all generally a bit shabby and depressing. I did have a sense of foreboding about this place before we left England when Dave kept assuring me that the apartment was fine but could do with a coat of paint. This is not comforting when it comes from a man who feels most at home living in any form of accommodation as long as it is sufficiently small enough to inhibit cat swinging, providing it contains wifi and a television capable of picking up English football games - notwithstanding his healthy appreciation of Sarah Beeny,

But still, here we are in Argentina, the sun is shining and we are not in England filling our hot water bottles or throwing another log on the fire. We are very, very lucky.

Excitingly for us we are living slap bang opposite Congreso, the Argentine Houses of Parliament.Outside are heavily armed riot police in bullet proofed vests, ready for the endless succession of marches and demonstrations that they are so fond of in this country. Often consisting of no more than a few dozen people gathered together to raise the issue of some indecipherable cause or other they march along the streets with their banners and flags, accompanied by drummers banging out a rhythmic marching beat. There ain't nothing boring about their demos here. From time to time, as we stand on our balcony trying to escape the sensation of having stumbled into a set from Abigail's Party the drone of the Presidential helicopter fills the sky as it descends on the rooftop to deliver the President to yet more urgent meetings, or perhaps just to fetch her a Frappuccino.

Outside our apartment block a raggle-taggle assortment of street people assemble every evening taking the air, chatting about this and that (well of course they could be plotting to overthrow the government for all I understand of Spanish these days) and generally cluttering up the pavement.Just down the road the soup kitchen pulls up and dispenses empanadas and, well, soup I suppose, although I couldn't imagine drinking soup in this weather.It's about 30 degrees during the day and not much cooler at night. Dave chuckles and says it all adds to the character of the place, whilst I just clutch my bag a little tighter to my chest and dream of moving to our next destination (another of Dave's properties) a house in very trendy Palermo surrounded by shops, cafes and restaurants.

Elsewhere the rest of the country is on holiday, January is their August and they all head to the beach, leaving Buenos Aires peaceful and calm inhabited only by tourists, the homeless, Cristina and us.

Our plans are still fluid - we may go to Ecuador or Bolivia or Peru but not only is it not the best time of year to go we are committed to doing some filming for Dave - including making a promotional video for his estancia. I predict a lot of time over the next few weeks will involve standing around waiting for Brian to take the lens cap off the camera or twiddle with some dials, whilst I hover around impatiently in the background having to be quiet. Nightmare.