Greetings from Mendoza! We've had three hours sleep so apologies if this post comes across as a little eggy. I write to you after being hit in the face with Rosie's travel pillow for singing in public and almost being denied entry into Argentina at 4 in the morning, as I had misplaced a piece of crucial documentation. As a result, Sergeant Snotty in the migration booth gave me a right rollocking. I may have ressembled a turd in a grey zip up hoodie at that particular time, but I definitely do not look like an accomplished drug smuggler. Moving swiftly on.

You will be surprised to know that me and Rosie actaully survived the night in Bariloche, managing to squeeze into the last two beds in the entire resort. Unfortunately this meant being in seperate rooms, with me sharing a bunk bed with an Israeli taking god-only-knows-what through his eyeballs in the early hours, and Rosie beside someone who seemed to enjoy a greater social life with cats than the general public. However, the place had pancakes for breakfast, so all was well. But the best was yet to come. This Easter, Bariloche was homing the largest hand-made chocolate easter egg on the planet. On the. Entire. Planet. This was to be distributed on Easter morning, free of charge, to a gleeful public.

Rosie and Oc vs The Locals.

But not even sharp elbows and butch war cries could get us to the front of the queue. This required some imagination. Awkwardly leapfrogging the metal barrier under the eyes of the bodyguards and the majority of the Argentine population, we whipped out our cameras and hazzarded a claim that we were from the media, and that it was in the journalistic interest of Great Britain that we be among the first to sample the masterpiece. They bought it. Sweet success. We stuffed our face, despite the queue of starving children stretching 5 miles behind us. We are awful human beings.