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Our steed of steel stands ready to whisk us across the 2659km between Adelaide and Perth, crossing one of the harshest deserts in Australia - The Nullarbor. This desert (Null-arbor means 'no trees' in latin) consists only of scrub salt bush and the very occasional tall shrub.

The average rainfall here is around 10 inches, making it one of the driest places on Earth - drier even than one of Ghandi's flip-flops.

Little lives here, bar rabbits (imported) and the odd Wedge-tail Eagle - a bird with a wing-span of 2.3 metres, the effigy of which adorns the side of the train.

On board, while Isobel and I settle into our Gold Kangaroo class deluxe double sleeper cabin, replete with en suite toilet/shower and fold down beds, Phil settles into his 'backpacker special' Red Kangaroo seat beside the smokers room (a kind of glass coffin) and overflowing shared heads of third class.

We roll out of Adelaide, building up speed en-route to our first brief stop at Port Augusta some three hours away, and head for the dining car to enjoy the sunset sitting (aka 'Maron') menu. What greets us is a beautifully laid out carriage with silver service waiters, a selection of fine wines, appetisers and mains which rival any of Sydney's finest and desserts to tempt even the most fastidious dieter. (Phil meanwhile apparently visited the buffet car to pick up a soggy cheese and ham toasty and can of VB).

I can imagine that First Class travel on the Indian Pacific has not changed a great deal in the hundred or so years the service has been running - absolutely fantastic!

Having been more than impressed with the dinner, and the option to play our music at excessive volume in the lounge after, a further surprise - while were dining, our beds have been unclipped and turned down - the bathroom given a once over and a chocolate left on the pillows.

Sleep is not difficult, the train gently rocking and the regular click-clack as the train glides along in the night - indeed, we barely notice Port Augusta... Phil tells us later that at this stop, two guards tackle and throw a drunk off the third class carriage. Sleep there being slightly more troublesome given the babies wailing, coughing of chain-smokers next door and regular flushing and squelching of the toilets.

We're not sure how, but we are constantly busy the next day - between scheduled meals (for which we are consistently late) we wander up and down the length of the train, a major trek in itself. We also entertain ourselves by running along the wiggly corridor of the single sleeper rooms and mill around meeting people on honeymoons, jollies or business. We lounge in our compartment drinking Peter Lehmanns Shiraz and survey the endless abyss that is the seemingly endless flatness of the Nullarbor. We spy a few eagles and enjoy a commentary on the journey so far.

It takes all day to cross the plain. Halfway, and somewhere along a 478km straight (the longest in the World allegedly) we stop for an hour at the small (population 4 - yes, four!) town of Cook to top up on water, change crews and buy souvenirs from an obese town member.

The town is only there to service the trains these days, and house a few wackos. Despite this, it has a school, swimming pool (filled in a now marked 'gold course') and graffiti to rival New York's worst.

We meet Phil, and smuggle him into our cabin - and spend the rest of the day playing top tunes and joking about our adventures past, present and to come.

At around 7pm, we pull into the town of Kalgoorlie - home to a plethora of pubs, prostitutes and a rather large pit... With these credentials, we decide it would be rude not to take a tour of the town...

Another night of deep refreshing sleep, and we arrive (just after the breakfast sitting) in Perth - relaxed and ready to check out the warm waters of the Indian Ocean.

Phil looks shattered of course - having been kept up this time by a weed smoking Aborigine and his cohorts.

Our flight has taken a day and two nights, at an altitude of ten feet - in a word, brilliant!

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