My arms ache. My feet are about to fall off my legs. Don't even ask about my bottom. You don't want to know.

We are just minutes from the finish line in Havana. The sea breeze is very welcome and people are cheering and waving.

When I say 'we' are minutes from the line, a few of the keen cyclists finished a while ago. It's the taking part that counts, I've always been told.

What a week! Needless to say, I was the very first to get a puncture. But I've now learnt how to mend one. That's an achievement in itself. Never mind cycling across Cuba and raising money to help kids get the operations they need.

Cuba is like a time-warp. Though buildings are dilapidated, the vintage cars are so cared-for they glisten in the sun. Children wear their school uniforms with pride. Imagine that in London.

Tonight we dance salsa. How much more exciting than clubbing in Ibiza? Shame my legs are like jelly. Will just have to sit this one out and listen.