Lost Weekend: Florence

They say the real sign of a local in any city is that they know how to get a cab.

So it was patently obvious to anyone who cared that I was on virgin territory in Florence, when I shivered on a roadside for a good half an hour after my arrival, watching welcoming orange lights blink off as they approached me. Whether this is the basis of an actual system or just the taxi drivers having a laugh remains unclear, but the only way to avoid sobering up between vino biancos in this town is to head for the train station, the famous duomo, or ask someone - even a club - to call one.

Once finally off the streets, we realised the Italians are too busy eating to start drinking much before 11pm, so the only place to start the evening in style is at the not-as-ostentatious-as-it-sounds Hotel Savoy at the Piazza della Repubblica. Finally thawed and over familiar with the Savoy's rice crackers that accompanied our drinks, our guide Antonio (a policeman, which may explain the enthusiastic welcome we get all over town later) arrives and insists we do as the Florentines do and go eat.

At Trattoria I Tredici Gobbi, the waiters - keen to prove how much better Italian food is than British, and, hey, I'm not complaining - choose for us and deliver a selection of the menu's highlights, not to mention raw meat masquerading as antipasti, for us to sample, washed down with a bottle of local red wine per course too.

After two - or it could have been several - glasses of the local eyewatering grappa to finish, we move on, electing to give the Italians' concept of a bar (standing up, in a brightly lit cafe, downing your drink at the counter) a miss and instead visit Rex. Dark, smoky and jazz-fuelled, it looks like something out of a Sixties French art film, but is far more laid-back and proves a good place to discover their powerful martinis and the generous Italian measures of vodka served all over town.

That can be the only explanation for my subsequent desire to hit Universale, the local cattle market in any language. This is the place to abandon all shame and do the YMCA. Now with vodka flowing through my veins, even I'm alert enough to realise there's something wrong with the bizarre mix of Seventies disco, salsa and house they're playing. You could call it perfect party music. But, as a cluster of people eagerly start a conga line at one end of the bar, I call it time to leave.

Fifteen minutes out of town, we reach the place the beautiful people go. Tenax is a concert venue-cum-wannabe superclub where Robbie Williams, Basement Jaxx and Blur have all played. Alex Neri is resident DJ and tonight the three-person Express 2 are at the decks, though the music's less memorable than the impossibly gorgeous transsexual podium dancers and the even more gorgeous crowd. This is perfect people-watching fodder, especially as you can rest assured no one will mind a bit if you stare. We befriend the barman, dressed only in silver hotpants, who decides to choose our drinks for us for the rest of the night. Last thing I remember is it was red, involved brown sugar and at least three bottles from the bar, and slipped down all too easily. Getting a cab seemed painless after that.

Siobhan Grogan flew to Pisa with Ryanair (0870 156 9569) and stayed at the Hotel J&J (0039 055 234 5005).

Best club Tenax, via Pratese 46 (0039 055 308 160).

Best bar Rex Caffe, via Fiesolana 25r (0039 055 248 0331).

Best hotel J&J, via di Mezzo 20 (0039 055 234 5005).

Best cheesy spot Universale, via Pisana 77r (0039 055 221 122).