It's not very often that Madhatters can afford to send someone out to Cuba for an exclusive - so we had to settle for the next best thing. In this case, that was Warren Sweeting and his trip earlier this year to Fidel's homeland. So it was that our Wayne found himself on holiday, sunning and a drinking, laughing and a skinny dipping, howling at the moon. Warren takes it from here....

Last November, five of us were quietly sipping in the George, Enfield, feeling dumped (cos' we'd all just been) and decided that a holiday was indeed the order of the day. On discussing the subject further, we decided that a communist republic would perhaps be the wisest choice. So rushing off to Thommy Cook, we had a butchers hook and within ten minutes we had to book. We then went back into the pub for a look - at the landlady's huge whammers.

Cuba, the resort is 5 star and all inclusive, but everywhere else seems to be firmly stuck in the poverty belt. With the average monthly wage coming in at between $8-10 most of the population are happy to stab you for $20. But enough about Thomas Cook excursions...

Day one: After donning my Gucci thong in backward fashion and displaying my backwheels in a Cadillac style, I took to striding across the golden sandy beach, stomach in, tits out. Within 5 steps across the beach, the soles of my feet told me it was broken coral - much like walking on broken glass (but no Annie Lennox references here). The butch, macho, fanwar magnet stride I was trying to perform eventually turned into the best Michael Jackson routine I'd ever done. Eventually coming across the sea, I turned to face my two weeks of possibility and subsequently slipped over the ten foot ledge that nobody had told me about.

Day two: After discovering how much the Canadians had been upset by the death of Princess Diana, I took it upon myself to enlighten them with the English perspective of my views. My first victim Bob, the lumberjack donning, shirtlifting, animal lover from Vancouver. was a little perplexed to find out that the death of Diana didn't mean so much to us as he thought it might have, but there were no sick jokes. No, really there weren't... honest.

Day three: Having managed to find the only rent boy in Cuba with nothing but Bermuda shorts and a Celtic top, which I promptly rejected, Huggy Bear offered me the full-on robot chubby for $1. (Which if you're wondering is only 60p). After haggling I was promptly blown out - which suited me fine. Anyway, I had a spare doughnut. Aside from that Havana is a beautiful capital with all the charms of a cheap hooker in Soho.

Moving on to Trinidad, we met our guide (strangely enough called Fidel). After knowing Fidel for about an hour we noticed that he knew diddly about English blasphemy. He sunk from the line that, "Fuck off you Twat", loosely equated to, "How are you, Sid James", and that, "you're having a blonde moment", is a chat up line for top Doris's. He promptly managed to drag us 7km up a mountain to a waterfall, where we were even more promptly introduced to flash flooding, courtesy of Hurricane Higgins/Irma. The ankle depth stream now lapping against my adam's apple in a torrent type fashion had taken a slight advantage. But, everyone felt like Rambo - so we were all up for it. With cries of, "Yo Adrian I love you", we slid off the waterfall. As quick as a flash our guides disappeared into oblivion, leaving myself, a Swiss army knife and a cheese sandwich to battle it out against the elements.

After four hours of heaving and grunting, I left the Belgian girl I'd found on the path and headed back towards the hotel. On finding the Hotel, machete between my teeth (which really hurt - I hate metal on my teeth) and still feeling like Rambo, I went straight to the Hotel's 5 star manicure parlour.

Day six: This was the first day I came across Hotel security. If I'd had chosen a smaller guard I may have been able to fight him off, but as things stood, I spent the rest of the holiday walking like John Wayne having put the real meaning into, "getting off your horse and drinking your milk".

Day seven: This was the second day that I came across Hotel security. As this was a much smaller bloke, he succumbed to the chloroform that much quicker.

Day eight: Having lost my roommate (who had my door key) I put on my deer stalker and answered to Sherlock, conveniently I found my roommate upside down in the pool wearing M&S pants (very attractive on a 17st rugger player) nearly dead. On turning him over he politely puked pool water all over me, being tolerant I gave him a quick thank you in the left eye. After it had taken 6 of us to get him upstairs on a sunbed, for the first time I saw someone lose all control of their bodily functions, and subsequently appreciated why magic trees had been invented.

The rest of the holiday involved tanning my torso in an Adonis type fashion (well I tried). Everything was fine until the departure flight. We all found it so comforting to walk out onto a Cuban runway and see 10 heavily mustached Fidel- types pointing torches at the underside of our plane home. Just checking the planes new hint of magnolia......Yeah right!!!!

Overall, Cuba is a fannytastic place moving from third world to five star in a matter in kilometers. In my opinion, this really is a third world country which has small blemishes of tourism scattered across it, all heavily guarded to protect the paying tourists. As usual the media had jumped on the few bad elements, the country has amazing countryside very rude tour guides and large chutney ferrets.

Warren is currently performing Panto in the East Grinstead Dinner Theatre's production of "Oops, Pardon, where's my Backwheels".