I'm sure we all have a favourite place, or two, to enjoy a cigar. Personally, I have two.

The first is the deck at Waddy Lodge on Fraser Island, but as we only take the fishing trip for one week a year, it is a rare privilege. 

The second is the family beach shack at Hastings Point in northern NSW. 

The place has family history. Before I was born, the folks were coming down here. Dad was an extremely keen fisherman, and an exceptional one – I've still not seen better. Sadly, I am not in his class. There was an old shack on the headland if you could struggle through the sand tracks – remembering that in those days, no 4WDs. Mostly highway, these days. 

I'm here at the moment, watching a flock of seabirds smashing a school of baitfish, far too far offshore to be of use to me. Indeed, this time of year is not great fishing (I should do all-night efforts to chase jew from the rocks but too difficult). There is a photo of me, maybe three or four, holding a big tailor (bluefish) at home. No doubt it was caught by the old man and given to me for the pic. Tailor were prolific in the old days. I got a few in a session last year, four or five, which was terrific stuff, though a shadow of what you’d expect way back when. A local guy on the beach came over and said that they were the first he’d seen on this beach in four years. A few miles south still got them but rarely here (I suspect that he might not have been the most competent fisherman because I am sure there are still some around – hell, I caught some. There must be). 

Eventually, holidays took us north of Brizzy but as we finished school, the old man got a place near the beach at Cabarita about 5 miles north of here (tourism people felt the original name of Bogangar not appealing enough). Great fun. A few years later, some of his friends approached him to say they were all combining to buy a block a bit south and then going to build ten townhouses (nice word for beach shacks), one for each family involved. This was thirty years ago. 

Dad said no interest. We loved the place at Cabarita. But asked where, just for interest. Turned out to be the very block with the old fishing hut on the headland (those that know the region, the site to the north of the Creek). Dad could not sign up fast enough and we’ve been here since. 

Twice, I've lived here for six-month stints when I have been looking for my next place, and if I can ever sell the current place, might again. It can be very quiet mid-week but I love it. I promised myself a few years ago to use it a lot more. Nephew and niece use it a bit and sisters rarely, though we all go down for a few weeks at Christmas. I was doing well with visits and thoroughly enjoying it before Covid, the robberies (long and depressing story, don’t ask), family stuff, border closures and then trying to sell the house.

Recently, I decided enough. I needed a break, so have come down for a week (no doubt back home by the time you read this). The trip down a bit under two hours. I had to see my accountants first – always depressing – and then catch up with friends on the way down just before the border. Fortunately, they knew I needed border permits – I thought that was no longer required – and so printed me one. There are some four sets of steps, once one gets the old locks to allow ingress, up which I need to carry everything, including several dozen wines and spirits (I come here to work), eskies, boxes of books and work, and so on. So by the time I had finally done that this time, I was a hot heaving mess with a very painful knee. 

I really needed to relax (serious work could start the next morning), find a cigar and a drink. Especially a cold beer. Problem is that one needs to turn on all the electricity etc. when one arrives. So no hot water or cold fridge. I stuck a beer in the freezer and set it on maximum and wrapped the frozen peas around it. 

As I mentioned, my favourite place. When I come down here, I usually get up and do an early walk along the magnificent beach, come back and work until a few hours post-lunch and then pull out the recliner in front of the place – old days, one could see the ocean unimpeded, but a few too many trees these days to make it easy. I settle down with chosen cigar, the drink to match it and a good book. 

This time, the cigar was the Punch 48. They must be special because they have a second gold band. Book. Cover. These have only been around since mid ’17. It seems so much longer. And I recall that these were cigars I enjoyed. Today? Sadly, it did not live up to stellar remembrances. 

The appearance was of a raggedy foot but otherwise okay. The initial aromas were of bitterness and ammonia. It did settle and some caramel emerged. A soft cigar but with oomph and heft. It got a bit hot towards the end. Not sure when made but I suspect it was too young. Not particularly well balanced. A standard, okay cigar. I remember better things. 88.

But the beer was a joy. I really needed an ice-cold beer – but settled for a reasonably cool one. I could not wait any longer. An Asahi Super Dry, so nothing weird or wonderful. But some days, that cold beer does its job. And this one certainly did. As a match, well, to be honest, I really didn’t much care. That was not the point today. I also had a glass of a very good Japanese whisky, but as I will be looking at that seriously with another cigar soon, you can wait. 

However, this is a column about matching cigars, theoretically with drinks, but there are times when something else works just as well. Good company is an obvious choice. Could be good music. Today, a terrific book. And an ideal one, though I don’t recall a single mention of a cigar. 

So, what I do want to talk about is an absolutely cracking novel called ‘Havana Requiem’ by Paul Goldstein, a law professor at Stanford. I'm sure anyone on this site who enjoys a good book has read novels or non-fiction about Cuba. For me, if you leave Hemingway aside, and possibly the works of Leonardo Padura (the detective thrillers featuring Mario Conde), this is the book that gets closest to the heart of Cuba for me. I loved it. 

A few things that one might pick at first – I do not remember the Nacional having room service for breakfast, but perhaps I didn’t look hard enough. I guess it must have. A few too many of the characters have no problem with English but I guess that might have been necessary for the book to work smoothly. And I am not certain that Havana is quite as dangerous as made out, although, for some, it probably is. 

If anyone had told me that a ‘thriller’ about trying to recover old music rights would be not just riveting but edge-of-seat, read-it-in-a-sitting stuff, I would never have believed them. This is. 

Think the Buena Vista Social Club meets John Grisham meets Graham Greene. It is a cracker. The interesting thing was that although it took me right back to the streets of Havana and its people, it was much more for the trips I took myself than the ones I took with Rob and the guys. If that makes any sense. I spent a lot of time wandering the streets, bars and back allies by myself, before usually catching up with friends later. 

The book is apparently hard to find – I got mine at Amazon but I gather that they then jacked up the price and have run out of copies – but it is worth chasing.

A most relaxing afternoon indeed. And if you do not mind, I intend to repeat forthwith – well, the relaxing with a cigar and a drink and another book. But remember, it is all work! 

KBG