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A most extraordinary coincidence. Tonight, in the hotel in Hilton Head, I met a woman who is also going to Cottonmouth Creek to visit. But here’s the remarkable thing. She knows Duncan! Gosh, what a surprise that was.

Rosalie’s from Kentucky, and a strikingly good looking woman of about 45. She looks natural too. A few faint wrinkles. No apparent surgery or Botox. Blue eyes, what must once have been cornthread hair, trim figure, good legs, tastefully if inexpensively dressed. She made me feel a bit dowdy to be honest, but she was so friendly I soon felt at my ease. Then we discovered that we both know Duncan, and we got on like a house on fire.

She told me a little story about him. In 1998 or so, when she was about 25, she was visiting her cousin in Salt Lake City. They went out for the evening to The Dead Goat Saloon. Apparently it’s closed now, but back then was a good place for live music, with a quietish bar at the front, and the music in a separate room at the back down a rather gloomy corridor. Duncan used the Goat a lot whenever he went to Salt Lake, and had got to know the cousin, who introduced him to Rosalie. Now I have to tell you something. She really rather liked him, despite the age gap of nearly 20 years. She especially liked ‘That accent of his. Wow, that had me from Hello!.’ They got chatting, and the cousin and his friends gradually drifted away, leaving them talking, not wanting to be in the way of any developments. Rosalie decided she’d really like to go to bed with him. He, however, made no attempt to ‘put a move on her,’ as she put it so eloquently, and she decided to take matters into her own hands.

The band started playing a tune that Rosalie liked, and she asked,’ Would you like to dance?’

‘Yes,’ said Duncan. ‘Very much. But I’m not going to.’

‘It’s only a dance. No harm in that. Don’t you like me?’

‘It’s because I really like you, and I think you’re very pretty. But I’m married, I’m a long way from home, and I know my wife is on her own. It just doesn’t feel right. So yes I’d like to dance, but no I’m not going to. I just can’t. I’m sorry if that’s an insult.’

And do you know what she did? She leaned forward, gave him a peck on the cheek, and said ‘That’s really sweet. They don’t make guys like you in Kentucky.’

She swears this is a true story. Duncan’s never told me this one, so I’ll have to check with him, but I’ve no reason to doubt her.

He’s such a soppy old Hector, sometimes.

Anyway, Rosalie and I are going to get an early night, and share a taxicab tomorrow to Cottonmouth Creek.

I admit to being slightly apprehensive about meeting Mr Fuckwit. There. I’ve said it. Well done, me!