Dealing with the heat in Broken Hill is heaps easier than the humidity in Sydney. I went to school in Broken Hill during the days (many moons ago) when girls had to wear the same type of uniform summer or winter. Imagine the discomfort of wearing a navy blue woollen serge box-pleat tunic during a 100 C+ heatwave! And the poor teachers must have been knocked out by the stench of 40 sweaty girls and boys in their classroom.

And Broken Hill used to have the most amazing duststorms. The sky would change to a strange red colour, the wind would turn into a hurricane, and the dust would blanket the city, with visibility only as far as your hand in front of you. All you could do was close all the doors and windows and wait. Then scoop out bucketsful of red dust out of your house at the end of the storm. Magnificent, but I'm glad I'm not living there now. It was a wonderful city with a proud past - they were the first to achieve the 35 hour week for the workers, they were self-sufficient for much of their history, and they really did look after each other. Unless of course you refused to join the union, in which case they "rattled the tin" on you. This meant that shops could not serve you or your family, neighbours and friends had to shun you, and you could not get a job because no-one was allowed to work with you. This continued until you either caved in and joined, left town, or died.

I still have a love hate relationship with the town, and if you are visiting Australia, please visit it.