It is late June and there are so many RV’s heading north on the Stuart Highway that it could be described as a stream. We’re heading south because I’ve broken my ankle and Woody keeps complaining that he’s sick of waving and wants a plastic hand on the dash board. In fact southbound we’ve only passed an old bloke collecting aluminium cans, a backpacker whiz bang and a fellow an idiot on a bicycle. I text my old boss to wish him a Happy Birthday and he tells me that his Dad is camped at the Marbles. We drive in and are amazed at how good the Devil’s Marbles actually are, but not much fun for an old duck on crutches waving an iPad out of the window. So we go about harassing the campers looking for a bloke called Mahoney. Alas it looks like he’s moved on. There’s a pretty good chance that we waved to him somewhere back up the road.