Rod Stewart describes the moment he met future wife Rachel Hunter

Long ago, I discovered that if you wanted to open a conversation with a woman in a club, you simply had to go up to her and say, in your best cockney accent – and in a tone of genuine curiosity – ‘Hello, darlin', what you got in that handbag?'

It worked for me every time – and never better, indeed, than when the woman in question didn't actually have a handbag. But on the night I first spotted Rachel Hunter – at an LA nightclub – reason deserted me.

Smoothing my jacket, checking the knot on my tie and gathering all the immense quantities of suavity in my possession, I went across to her and . . . did the naffest thing I could possibly have done.

I actually mimed one of the exercises I'd seen her doing in a television commercial for a fitness video. What was I playing at? Why didn't I just use my usual ice-breaker?

Needless to say, it didn't work: Rachel attempted a sympathetic smile as a cold wind whistled and a ball of tumbleweed blew through the club. Still, at least she didn't turn away . . . extraordinary to think that this less than promising start led to a romance that redefined the term ‘whirlwind' and then to an eight-year-marriage that would eventually leave me as emotionally broken as I have ever been.

That summer of 1990, I'd become so addicted to watching Rachel's commercial for a fitness video that promised ‘eight weeks to a better body' that life had to stop whenever it came on TV.

The advert also starred Elle Macpherson and Cheryl Tiegs, but the model who'd caught my attention was the Lycra-clad girl with the gorgeous shock of curls who promised to ‘tighten up those frustrating areas that won't go away'.

I thought I'd seen a goddess. So when, by a sensational fluke, I came across Rachel in the Roxbury Club that night, she was literally my video dream made flesh. I had that weird, double-take feeling: ‘It's her. Off the telly.'

I told her and the friend she was with that I was having a little gathering at my place later, if they fancied coming along. And when they finally arrived, I dropped, rather shamefully, the woman I'd been warmly chatting up – TV actress and Playboy model Teri Copley – like a hot brick.

Coming through the front door, Rachel had tripped and gone sliding across the slippery hall floor – her grand entrance. So now at least we'd both embarrassed ourselves.

There was a connection straight away. She was extremely beautiful, but there was something no-nonsense about her as well. It was there in her New Zealand accent, but also in her face, which was open and smart.

Not only was she as far removed as could be from the stereotype of the flaky model, but she already had money and fame. That was a relief. In my position, that suspicion was always there: does this woman really like me, or just the stuff that surrounds me?

And there was a naivety about Rachel, too – of course there was. After all, she was just shy of her 21st birthday. I was 45, so there were nearly 25 years between us. But it wasn't that she was too young for me. She was, quite simply, too young: too young to get married, too young to become caught up in another person's life, which is what happened.

Christ, she'd barely lived. But I didn't see it. I just sailed on.

I really must have been in love. When she flew to New York the next morning, I sent two dozen red roses to her model agency. Then I flew to New York, on no pretext at all, so that I could see her again.

I persuaded her to have dinner with me, a meal during which we didn't so much talk as gabble,Plain knee length kurtas with straight pajamas and canada goose parka jacket looked elegant and wearable. covering a lot of ground in a big hurry. Back at her hotel that night, we shared a bed for the first time.

She wore a T-shirt that came down to her ankles – a T-shirt that said ‘Not tonight, thank you' as efficiently as if she had come clanking out of the bathroom in a deep-sea diving outfit. Bit of a shame, of course, but a sign that maybe we were at the beginning of something serious.

The following Sunday was September 9: Rachel's birthday. We made a plan to celebrate lavishly – both her big day and our new relationship.Smoothing buy moncler jackets, checking the knot on my tie and gathering all the immense quantities of suavity in my possession. And maybe (if I was lucky) have sex, which we hadn't got round to yet. Not that I was desperate or anything.

But the celebrations didn't happen. There was a phone call from my sister Mary. ‘Roddy, Dad's died,' she said.

Just a few hours before, I'd spoken on the phone to my father, who was 86,The most inspiring outfit of Nova was canada goose outlet with handbag and leather shoes. about the Scottish and English football results. Apparently, not long after that, he said he felt tired and went upstairs to bed. And then he was gone.

I don't need to say how much his death crushed me. I wept, and Rachel held me. And it was an extraordinary situation all round because here I was, full of new love and now in mourning. I think one refers to this as ‘mixed emotions'. But Rachel was amazing, full of comfort and support.Camping and SKY Cycling for four days in 35-degree heat will certainly be a challenge.

Suddenly, it wasn't me who was the senior half of the relationship, it was Rachel. She took control and helped me through.

And although she'd never met him, which was a huge additional sadness, she flew back to London with me for the funeral, staying behind while I went to the service.