DATELINE: Portland, Oregon

On Friday morning, while we checked out of the Comfort Inn in Medford, Oregon, I mentioned our purpose to the smiley, raven-haired women behind the desk. As we discuss McCain’s coronation as the Republican candidate, her husband, Mr Comfort-Inn, looks up from his desk chair, swivelling around to reveal a dark-haired, stout 35 year old; he looks like a pony-tailed hobgoblin. He’s the kind of guy who could conceivably have evolved from a Lord of the Rings character, throwing into doubt the whole Darwinian ape-humanoid lineage.

His biggest concern is all the undocumented newcomers to The Shire - you know what foreigners are like, taking our jobs, drinking our mead, stealing our hairy-footed women. Mr Comfort-Inn doesn’t like John McCain’s soft stance on immigrants, though he will bite the bullet and vote for him in November, grudgingly.

I tell them we spent Super Tuesday in San Francisco. “Wow, California… you guys must have been some of the last English people there.” This confused me - was he referring to the Revolutionary War? Why had English people left the Bay Area? He must have sensed my confusion. “Y’know, now that everyone speaks Spanish in California.” Oh. He meant the last English-speaking people there. I smiled my benign ‘I’m white, please don’t hurt me, xenophobic hobbit man’ smile, and went out to the car.

*****

Surprisingly, these were pretty much the first Mitt Romney supporters we met in six weeks on the road - and we met them on the day after he pulled out of the race (despite the campaign’s best efforts, including enlisting a rabbit dancing to Crank Dat). It’s another indictment of the staggered primary process that, with a May primary, these Oregonians don’t get a say in picking a candidate:

“Our guy’s been knocked out before we could even vote for him” Mrs Comfort-Inn had said, with a twang of disappointment. “It’s really not a fair system.”

Later in the evening, Tom and I hung out at a cool indie rock show in Portland, knocking back beers with yes, of course, more Mitt Romney supporters.

“In Oregon people are emotional in the way they approach politics” sincere, bespectacled Steve explained to us. “This is an 80% Democratic town. But I have no problem being a Republican and inflicting my values on my friends.” Steve’s friend John is from the same small town in Oregon as him, and would also have voted Romney if he’d had the chance. “I’m not a RINO. You guys know what that is?” he said, standing up and grabbing either side of the table, leaning in closer to make himself heard over the clatter of the live band. “It’s a Republican In Name Only. That’s not me. I’m a true conservative.”

John very kindly bought us tequilas - and indirectly helped to render my notes a blurry litany of hieroglyphics, from which only the names McCain and Romney stand out clearly. Illegal immigration and the war are John’s main priorities. The only thing he agrees with McCain about is the need to keep up the war effort. “When we defeated the Nazis in World War Two, we didn’t do it by half-bombing Germany. We bombed the shit out of them. That’s what we need to do in Iraq. And I’ll tell you another thing - a lot of Americans are pissed about the level of British involvement in the war. They’re pissed that 99% of the troops in there are American.”

He gives us a beaming, ear-to-ear drunken smile. “This is nothing against you guys, really it’s not..” he says apologetically. I explain that as much as we wished it otherwise, Tom and I have a very limited influence over British defence policy, and so no offence is taken.