Birthday in Havana

Havana, Hanover Square, that is. Not a first choice of nightclub by any means but a colleague was having her birthday there and we said we'd pop in for a drink. Its a kind of latin joint full of sleazy men and girls who can do a passable samba, lambada or can just shake their hips. Real latin girls come in vest tops, jeans and strappy sandals. Others feel they need to make more of an effort. There's a Thai pole dancer in and extremely short asymmetrical dress (extremely short on one side only) who is being taken for a spin across the floor by almost every man in the joint so far. Of the other girls the favoured dancer is the one in the yellow vest top. Passed around like a parcel from partner to partner.

Its one of those places where the men use dancing as a way to show off - like cocks in mating season, a puffed up chest, some tail feathers shaken. Its the biceps, teeshirts just curling up over them, spinning the girl and holding an extravagant hand outstretched, hips and foot movements. The Matre'd has a terrible two-tone hairdressers haircut - it sticks up like a mohican on the side, is blond on one third, brown on the other and slightly flat on the top.

Us? We were just there for the cocktails, until of course they took their toll and we had to join in. Just for a bit mind. One of my colleagues was whisked off to dance with a man who pressed his hard-on against her thigh at which point HS decided she had to eat and demanded we leave. Shame, I was just about getting into the swing of it.