21/11/08. Pinamar, Argentina.

So it's bye bye C and hello AT. My 10-year-old, 35,000 mile Africa Twin which I bought on eBay and am somehow expecting to get me to Canada, has been nailed up inside a dusty crate for 6 weeks and sea-freighted diagonally across the Atlantic. It starts first time after being crow-barred free in BA, much to the delight of the cheery warehouse fellas and the relief and near-tearful gratitude of myself.

I spend a fair proportion of my final week in BA in - oh I can't decide - either the second-best or the joint-best pub in the world, The Gibraltar. Where might one begin? Visually, it's perfect. Dark wood, dim but optically-adequate lighting and just the right amount of comedy bar trinkets - i.e. not that many. The staffing is ideal; a landlord from the North-East of England, "Nice" Beaver, who has the unusually good manners to look, and, importantly, be, even more hungover than you when you arrive; and a selection of nice, smiley girls to pour the stuff.

The stuff itself is cheap, cold and limitless. Closing time is 4 am. They have the perfect bar-stools. In the CD rack are both the last Midlake album and an AC/DC best-of. Every time I go there I end up having an amusing chat with a tourist, an ex-pat or a local.

I really could have gone there every night for six weeks, but I'd have died, so I didn't. So now I'm in Pinamar. The AT was a joy on the 250 mile ride here, but I've woefully overloaded it (again) so tomorrow is going to be chuck-stuff-away-day. I hope my landlady - who is 175 years old - has a big dustbin.