Can you come to Melbourne (Naarm ) for my birthday,” a dear friend asks. It’s a significant birthday – so significant that I cannot refuse (and I’m sworn to secrecy about the age involved). “Of course,” I blurt. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. When is it?” I ask, thinking I’d have a few weeks. “It’s tomorrow. I know it’s short notice, but I only just decided,” he says. Then he dangles another carrot. Dinner will be at Eureka 89 – the high-end (and very high) restaurant above Melbourne Skydeck - the Southern Hemisphere’s highest observation deck.

My expectations are even greater than the potential hurdles I face to get there. An internet search shows there are flights, but I have another problem. I have so much work to do. Deadlines are looming on five stories. And if I fly, I’m going to lose about four hours of my day. Add the procrastinating I am prone to, and I’m not going to get it done.

The thinking cap goes on and the result is that here I am, writing stories, on board The Overland train. I know the train will take longer than flying - it’s 11 hours of rattle and hum - but I’m comfy in my Red Premium seat, having coffee, breakfast, lunch, and afternoon tea delivered to me… and I can work the entire time. Okay, that’s not quite true. I’m still prone to procrastinating.

I’m smiling at the footstools we’ve all been given, and I can’t stop looking at the view. There are no TVs but who needs them when we can see the actual world gliding by. The Adelaide Hills (tarntanya wama) come to life as we head out on our 880km journey. Children play on swings and dogs chase the train while horses casually look up not knowing what the fuss is about. Hikers plough on through forests of eucalypts in the national park. Those gum trees are glorious in the morning glow. Sheep and cattle graze on rolling hills and joyful surprises pop up like a family of kangaroos sheltering under a cluster of trees.

A few hours in and we’re in Murray Bridge picking up more passengers. After we cross the mighty Murray River, our track is lined with tangled mallee scrub hanging on for dear life in the 38C heat. When the scrub gives way to pastures, the words of poet Dorothy Mackellar run through my mind … it really is a land of sweeping plains, and this “wide brown land” is certainly for me.

It’s proving hard to write when there are so many distractions and interesting people to talk to. I pop up to the Cafe carriage for another cappuccino and bump into Fran and Keith from the UK. Fellow Brits John and Sue sit opposite me. They have extraordinary tales of travel and an Aussie wishlist … including the Overland. What is it about train travel that inspires international visitors? Simple answer: they want to really see the countryside.