Honky tonk women are so hard to find.

Not because there aren’t many around. And not because they are limited to one location. It’s because nobody seems to now what constraints justify the label.

Being a Rolling Stones fan for years, I’d always wondered about the basis of my favourite song. The words didn’t clearly tell you what honky tonk women were. That was before finding Sticky Fingers.

I was visiting Dallas, Texas, for the fourth time in as many years, finding new things each time. I loved that city. While going through a part of town I hadn’t been to, my eye was magnetised to the big neon sign of the title of the Stones album. Sticky Fingers. It was a bar with a theme of the band.

“So what do you think makes a honky tonk woman, Lola?” I asked the redhead I was having a drink with. I’d found her sitting alone when I’d come in to have a look at the bar.

“I don’t rightly know sugar,” she whispered in her sexy southern drawl, “but I’d like to try to find out upstairs, if you’re game…”