The people in the Qantas office, to which I repaired in great discomfort later that day, were more forthcoming. Our baggage had not yet been located but they were sure it soon would be. That’s provided it hadn’t been taken off the plane at Bahrain. (I didn’t ask what my chances were if that had happened – there was something about the way they coughed up the word Bahrain that filled me with foreboding.) In the meantime they could offer us twenty-five dollars per person per day to purchase more appropriate apparel. They would, of course, require receipts, and I was to understand that the twenty-five dollars was payable only for each complete day the luggage remained missing – thus, if a bag went astray at noon on Monday and was recovered at 11.59 on Tuesday, no pro tem compensation could be expected.

‘Just find the case,’ I said.

I didn’t have time to hang around. Ros was in the hotel – in the shower to be precise – waiting for me to bring back as much in the way of talcs and cleansers and personal dehumidifiers as I could carry. She had gone into the shower the minute we’d arrived from the airport and she had remained there, with only the odd break for sleep, ever since. As she had no intention of coming out until her clothes were found, I had also to bring her back cans of cold drink, snacks, newspapers, and descriptions of where we were. Our hotel enjoyed a good view across The Esplanade to Beagle Gulf but offered no clue as to the torrid nature of the town itself.

I was disappointed to find the pharmacies in Darwin every bit as overstocked and glossy as those I was used to in Sydney and Melbourne. The profession of pharmacist is a highly glamorous one in Australia and their shops invariably reflect this prestige. Beautiful women in white coats accost you the moment you enter, beg to be of assistance and escort you lingeringly around parfumerie or oral hygiene. Going to the chemist in Australia can be more exciting than going to a nightclub in Wales. But I had expected something more indigenous in Darwin. I would have preferred it, frankly, if they’d laughed in my face when I’d asked for non-contact roll-on unperfumed anti-perspirant, and recommended spittle of spayed goanna, instead of showing me a range of over thirty pretty pots and packages.