Sunday, 15 August
The body clock did its trick again and would have to be watched as we progressed westwards if I was going to avoid arising at some ungodly hour. In that regard, I mused as the consciousness kicked in, the Red Service may have been the better option as far as meal times go. Dinner after Adelaide was going to be late and if the diurnal rhythms were going to be maintained I suspected something would end up having to give.
That's the sort of thing you ponder when you're wide awake, the sun hasn't deigned to make an appearance and any attempt to sit up is going to cause a collision between your scone and the overhead bunk.
Still, as the time worked its way slowly towards sunrise, we had the prospect of an early morning tea. The train pulls into Broken Hill on the westward journey around six-forty CST, and we'd been warned to wind watches and other chronometric devices back half an hour before we retired for the night. I wasn't sure how to do this with the semi-flash new mobile phone, so I was still in EST when we arrived.
Since breakfast wasn't going to be served until after an 8:20 CST departure there was a 6:00 morning tea to provide sustenance to those who needed it. Plenty did, quite a few of them from the Red Sitting, which was understandable, but quite a few familiar faces from last night's dinner who may well have been sleeping in without the friendly reminder call over the P.A.
I got in two cups of remarkably decent coffee and Madam managed a cup of tea and a Danish as we learned that the temperature at Broken Hill was a rather crisp six degrees. Given the temperature, uncertainty about how to adjust the new mobile, and the fact that we were going to be there for two hours I would have been satisfied, assuming I was going outside at all, with a dingo's breakfast (a nervous pee and a quick look around) before retreating to relative warmth, but Madam needed a photographic record, some of which I would be able to use, so off we went, spending an hour roaming the streets, encountering a variety of fellow passengers and noting the locals were wisely tucked up somewhere warm.
As far as Madam was concerned, the circuit could have been longer, but I managed to steer us back to the station comfortably before departure time.
While we’d been away the train crew had been engaged in a bit of cleaning up, and we returned to find a line of plastic bin liners arrayed along the platform. As we turned to board the train, something about one of them caught my eye, and I was mildly bemused to note that the bag closest to our door was emblazoned with a simple message: For Richard, the sort of thing that puzzles the inquiring mind.