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2005-05-15 - 11:11 p.m.

I�m not sure a Cuban airways flight has left on time in the history of the airline. Havana airport is not the best place to sweat your way through a three hour delay, especially having gone through a customs check more rigorous than if you were trying to get INTO the country.

There were no assigned seats, and in true Brit style, people started queuing at the gate two and a half hours before boarding. I looked over at the gate for the similarly delayed Madrid flight, and people there were sat around chatting and passing the time, not standing in stony silence giving the hairy eyeball to anyone who dare try and wangle their way in front. I sat back, got on last and swanned into a prime seat.

Apart from it being next to the world�s moaniest woman, that is. Granted it�s a bit nippy at 35,000 feet, but that�s no reason to gripe about it incessantly to your pasty husband and then make him give you your blanket and still be a complete mouthy cow about it. Stop your self-obsessed whinging and let me sleep, is what I thought as loudly as I could.

My only souvenirs are a Che Guevara calendar (I passed on the Che Guevara tablemat set and the Che Guevara cocktail shaker) and a very suspect Cohiba cigar, which I fear may be less than top class tobacco.

They say that the finest Cuban cigars are rolled on the thighs of sixteen year old virgins. I have to say that in this country, I would be highly dubious about putting in my mouth anything that had come into direct contact with the bare upper leg of any teenager too ugly to have had sex. Sixteen year old virgins in England are sweaty pustules who do nothing but look at Star Trek internet porn. Not the best advertisement for sucking on anything.

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