Remember that I told you about how we washed and waxed the car? Do you recall also that I told you I thought it wasn't a good idea? Well, I was right.

Having gone through the effort of doing all that nonsense in the 32-degree heat, we prepared to depart the next day, which was Saturday. We got up, broke down the tent and packed up all our gear. I settled into the driving seat, turned on the engine and depressed the clutch - only to find my foot meeting no resistance at all and simply hitting the floor. No clutch, no go.

When we had Ramsey looked at in Townsville, we were told there was a very small leak of clutch fluid from the slave cylinder, but that we just needed to keep the level topped up. We had done that religiously and it had been fine the previous day. Nevertheless, when I lifted the bonnet and looked at the clutch fluid, there wasn't a single drop left. It had all drained away either on our last run on Friday (to a bottle shop of course) or overnight.

Some among you might think that this problem was inevitable. That it was only a matter of time before the leak became worse. I, however, know better. There is no doubt in my mind that the main cause of this mechanical disaster was that we had not only washed the car, but waxed it as well!

Think about it from Ramsey's point of view for a moment. He's not some cheeky little red sports car or even a family hatchback. He's a four wheel drive, designed to travel over rough country. All that shampooing, buffing and polishing must have been so embarrassing for him. Ramsey knows he's meant to be covered in a layer of fine red dust, not twinkling like a fairy on top of a Christmas tree. With all that stress, I think it isn't surprising that he had a little accident in the clutch department, poor thing.

Anyway, whatever the cause, we were well and truly stuck. We rang the NRMA (sort of like the AA) which we had joined way back in Sydney and a guy turned up after a while to take a look. As expected, he diagnosed a clutch cylinder failure and advised us to get on the phone to local garages to find out if any of them had the correct part. He also told us cheerfully that because a) it was Saturday, most would either be closed or about to close at lunchtime, and b) it was a public holiday on Monday, there was no way we could get the car fixed before Tuesday. Oh, joy!

There was nothing to do but follow his advice - and yes, he was correct about most of the garages being unavailable. There was nothing for it but to go to reception and book back in again. At least I hadn't told them what I thought of their scummy camp prior to our planned departure.

We decided to take this setback as cheerfully as we could. We aren't on a set timetable and we have always known that things would go wrong with the car, so we tried to make the best of it and have some fun in Darwin. We therefore took the bus into town that afternoon and wandered down 'bar street', our name for Mitchell Street for obvious reasons. We ended up having a couple of drinks in the sunshine and watching the world go by. Very pleasant.

As we were in town, we thought we might as well eat out for a change. After a longish walk to a restaurant recommended by one of the bar staff, we were disappointed to find it booked out until after the last bus home. Rather than pay for a taxi back, we retraced our steps and decided to eat at a restaurant called Thailicious. Katy hadn't particularly liked the look of it when we first walked past and I was a little wary given that its name seemed to be trying too hard. But the girl in the pub had named it as her second choice, so we decided to give it a chance.

It was a good job we did, because we had one of the best meals we have had in many a month. As the main seating areas were full, we were led to the rear of the restaurant where instead of sitting on chairs everyone reclined on mats with padded back supports. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but neither was it uncomfortable. Katy had a Tofu red curry and I chose a spicy flat noodle dish. Not only were both excellent, they didn't taste pretty much like every other Thai dish we've ever had - which can be a common fault of Thai restaurants around the world.

We didn't do much on Sunday, though we did get chatting to the family on the site opposite ours. They had done what quite a few Australians do - sell up, buy a caravan and tour Australia for a year or more. The father was looking for work as a carpenter while they travelled and the mother seemed to spend a lot of time with their daughter and a pile of books. It turned out that the girl, who was aged about nine, was enrolled in the School of the Air for the period of their wanderings. The school started out years ago with lessons broadcast by radio to all the isolated Outback stations across the country. Nowadays, of course, the internet is used more and more to back up the printed material.

Katy was quite jealous of this arrangement. She would have loved to have been taken out of school for a year or two to travel the world and have lessons in that fashion, even if it would have meant them being given by her mother.

Our plans for Monday were a no-brainer. As we had been told, it was a local public holiday officially called Picnic Day. Unofficially, it was known as Darwin Cup Day, because it was the climax of the local horse racing season. We had heard that everyone got dressed up, so we dug around in our backpacks and came out with the outfits we had worn to the wedding of Katy's Dad and Jan in New Zealand. Suitably attired, we caught the free bus to the racecourse and began our quest to win the cost of a replacement slave cylinder.

It started off well enough for Katy at least when she decided that with all the girls decked out in their brightest finery, the only possible winner was a filly called Princess Bling. I looked at its form and discovered that it had been beaten three times in a row by the favourite and that there was nothing in the conditions of the race to make a reversal likely. Oh well, I should have known better as Princess Bling cantered home by a wide margin at around 10-1 with the favourite toiling in second. Perhaps the weight of my cash held it back?

After that reasonably promising start, however, we couldn't have backed a winner in a two-horse race, even if we had chosen different animals! To be fair, it wasn't a day to be trying to win money as fancied horse after fancied horse got turned over by some outsider or other. We had the second and third in the final race of the day, the Darwin Cup itself, but as the winner was clear by six lengths we couldn't consider ourselves unlucky.

By that time, many of the previously composed young ladies and their immaculate outfits were considerably the worse for wear. Several girls were wandering around with their high heels in one hand and a glass of some frothing liquid in the other. The make-up of more than a few was by now sweat-streaked, which isn't a good look when it has been caked on in the first place. And some of the mainly short - make that very short - party frocks looked somewhat rumpled and crumpled.

And now here's some fashion advice for all you girls out there who have very chunky thighs and an old puffball mini-skirt or mini-dress that is so out of current favour it has been in the back of your wardrobe for a couple of years. Despair not, I say! Don't be embarrassed by either this garment or the elephant-like nature of your legs. Take your puffball skirt out of mothballs and ignore the fact that your thighs are as thick as Nicole Kidman's waist. Put on your glad-rags and come to the Darwin Cup, because you will fit in perfectly!

Oh, I'm such a b**** at times, aren't I?

Anyway, we had a good day at the races even though it was baking hot and all the seats had been taken by groups who arrived when the gates opened at 8am. Yes, seriously, that is when people turn up with their huge cool boxes full of picnic food and 'soft drinks'. You aren't allowed to take alcohol in, but I suspect that more than a few bottles of orange juice had been given a little extra something to get the party going.

Luckily we didn't drink too much as we had to be up early on Tuesday to try to get the car fixed. We had received conflicting advice over the weekend about whether we needed just to get the slave cylinder replaced or whether we should have the master cylinder done at the same time. In the end, we gambled on the slave alone and found a garage called Car Mech which could do it that afternoon. The cost wasn't bad at $150 all in, so now we have our fingers crossed that Ramsey will be fine for a few thousand more km at least.

Richard