Lost Weekend: Madrid

Arriving in the heart of Madrid at night, you could be forgiven for thinking you were in London's glittering West End - not least because of the huge My Fair Lady billboard.

Then you look again and see it stars Paloma San Basilio (probably the exhausted Martine under a pseudonym, in an elaborate ploy to live in Spain's capital).

But Madrid is in a class of its own. Even the Everything-For-A-Pound shops ooze romance. Veritably crawling with jazz clubs, flamenco bars and cervecerias - most claiming to have inspired Hemingway's literary ramblings - this initially daunting city is as charming architecturally as it is personable.

First stop is Meson Los Chanquetes. It's a truly Spanish tapas joint devoted to bullfighting memorabilia where matadors, hailed as kings in Spain, sit pretty in their photo-frames - including the dashing Enrique Ponce. Sophie and I have tapas and rioja underneath the stuffed bull's head with the follow-me eyes, before heading to watch Real Madrid vs Osasuna at the Bernabeu - Real Madrid's impressive 80,000-capacity football stadium. Before you can say 'ooh ah Osasuna', Real Madrid have whupped the visitors' asses. Even the fur-coated elderly Senoras stand-up to roar with enthusiasm, unwittingly right-hooking their husbands in the jaw.

From the stadium we set off on la marcha (bar-hopping, for want of a more mysterious translation). Anton Martin is a great area to start - if one bar shuts, another's always open. Which makes a welcome change from traipsing around post-pub Soho looking for class, but ending up in a sorry latrine with the underground crack community.

We have a sharpener in the Jazz Bar - an intimate venue, where you can get double-sided tapes compiled of all the jazz greats and early Elvis combos from 'music menus'. Three Chet Baker tracks and many more beverages later, we coast towards Plaza Santa Ana and into the marble-tabled Cerveceria Alemagna - so-called, explains the barman, because the founder (back in 1904) was German.

Suitably inebriated, Viva Madrid, a Moorish-style bar, is where the Euro-dancing begins and the sensible talking ends. A very short man keeps shouting rubbish in our direction, but I'm not sure if he's cross or trying to chat us up. Either way, we ditch the short guy and hit the road. Outside is just as animated, as people 'march' from one den of iniquity to another, buying street baguettes en route.

Next up is Via Rosa, where the music is more traditionally Spanish. Although I salsa off the stage at one point, I manage to keep my vodka and tonic intact, which is a result. But 'conversing' in 'Spanish' at 6am with the locals was not as clever. But Spaniards seem very forgiving.

We mooch around the shops flanking the frescoed, pinnacle-towered Plaza Mayor on Sunday, visit the Museo del Jamon for a caf? con leche amid the jamon thigh displays (you can buy them for £50 each). And culture comes in the form of the Reina Sophia museum, an awesome contemporary art gallery with a glass lift and sculptured courtyard, not to mention one of the best shops - if you like tack. But if old school is more your bag, the Prado is minutes away. If you're after a hedonistic weekend away, it doesn't get much better than Madrid. Have a go if you think you're hard enough.

Jo Ascherl flew to Madrid with Easyjet (www.easyjet.com), and stayed at NH Alberto Aguilera Hotel (0034 91 446 0900).

WHERE TO GO

Flamenco: Casa Patas, Calle Ca?izares 10 (0034 91 369 0496).

Cafe: Nuevo Cafe Barbieri, Calle Ave Maria 45 (0034 91 527 3658).

Tapas Bar: Meson Los Chanquetes, Calle de Moratin.

Live Jazz: Cafe Populart, Calle Huertas 22 (0034 91 429 8407).

Real Madrid FC: Info and booking line (0034 91 398 4300).

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