So, on Friday The Old Dear had her new underneaths fitted and everything put back together again. She started instantly, of course.The oil light still comes on at idle, but quite honestly I think I'll simply ignore it now. We can't find any reason for it, it's been happening for over 10,000 miles, and there appears to be no resultant damage.

But . . . there is an Unpleasant Noise at mid-range. The sort of Unpleasant Noise which can develop into an Expensive Noise.

So this morning Luis and I wielded his Amazing Electronic Stethoscope to try to locate exactly from where the Noise is emanating. We have decided it's from the top end on the right hand side, so tomorrow the Poor Old Thing will have to suffer the indignity of hetting undressed again. With luck it'll be something simple.

In the end I have several options:

1. Do nothing and hope it all goes away and nothing horrible happens in her insides. This could result in being stranded somewhere far less salubrious than here, which is rather nice. (If this were Porvenir I'd probably be completely barking by now.)

2. Fix everything as far as possible, irrespective of time and expense, up to and including the bottom end. Possible but tedious.

3. Give up and go home. Except that I don't have one and have to give two months' notice to the tenants. And I don't want to anyway.

4. Stay here. Or Ecuador. Or Argentina. Or Colombia. Or Laos. Choosing a country in which to live is a bit like the choice between a Land Rover and a Land Cruiser: the Landy with your heart and the Cruiser with your head. Argentina is the head choice; the others from the heart.