Florence: That's amore

I was mobbed in Florence 10 years ago by Blur fans. Damon and I were shopping and we were showing off a bit to start with, but it all got out of control. Traffic came to a standstill. There was a huge crowd. They were trying to grab our hair or a shred of a Fred Perry. They loved those Fred Perrys in Italy. As soon as we started wearing them the Italian record company began sending private jets to pick us up. That day, we had to be locked in one of the shops on the Ponte Vecchio until the police came. It was great fun.

We went to a restaurant in the evening, after the show, and enjoyed one of the most spectacular feasts I've ever had. The owners threw open the doors to the cellar and insisted that we try everything. We became friends forever. Except when I went back to the same restaurant with my girlfriend a year later, and asked for a table in my best Italian, the lady behind the desk said no. Very rudely. She was standing right underneath a large photograph. In the photograph she had her arm around me, and a big smile on her face. It was quite strange. I pointed at the photograph, which was the first thing you saw when you walked in. We walked right out of there. Ah, the boom-bust economy of celebrity.

I'd been to Florence a few times with the band, but I'd never stayed at the Savoy before. It's always nice to say "Savoy" to a taxi driver. In Italian it's even better. It's a nice language to try on, Italian, it's like a big pair of wellies, there's plenty of give in it.

The Savoy is a beautifully constructed, shuttered palazzo overlooking the Piazza della Repubblica. We threw open the shutters on Saturday morning and the strains of an aria drifted in through the window with the bright sunshine. It was too nice to get out of bed. There were a lot of books in the room, really good ones, enough to keep you busy all weekend. I got involved with Robin Hood until I was overcome by a need to drink coffee.

They've got the best coffee in the world in Florence. There are hundreds of independent coffee shops. You either order at the bar, where you are served instantaneously, or you pay a bit more to sit down and are served by a waiter. You get a little piece of chocolate, too, when you sit down. The service is prompt. You can be seated, served and settle up in less than the time you'd spend in a queue in Starbucks. As soon as you arrive in a Florentine café, you are at ease.

Saturday mornings are always great for people watching in city centres. We're talking hairspray. Even some of the beards looked like they'd been zapped. The centre of Florence is pretty much a catwalk. Only about a million people live in the city, but every designer from Armani to Zegna has a showroom and they're all trying to outflagship each other. It's chic. They check out your shoes, they check out your watch, and they let you know what they think. I'd brought a pair of muddy boots with me. I hung them on the door before 3am, as directed and when I awoke they had been returned, not just cleaned, but fully serviced and wrapped in tissue paper. I could see my face in them. It's the shiny shoe capital of Europe, Florence.

It is also one of those wonderful places where you don't need a car. It can be quite confusing in the ancient alleys and narrow streets. I kept finding myself thinking "Where's the front?" Everything looks a bit like the back, somehow, because it's all so crammed together. I took my shiny shoes for a stroll. Crooked passages open into vast squares full of mad sculptures. I was fascinated by one of the many statues in the Piazza della Signoria, that contribute to an enchanting atmosphere. It was about the campest thing I've ever seen, like a petrified Chippendale. The sheer amount of beautiful things in this city, give it buoyancy that pervades everything. It is a floating city, Florence. Everybody around me seemed to be enjoying themselves, it was that rare thing, a lovely public space.

It was sunny and the ice cream traders were doing good business. Like coffee, ice cream here is in a league of its own. The gelaterias, the ice cream shops, compete for trade by displaying irresistible mountains of chocolatey splendour in their windows. It's very hard to not eat ice cream wherever you go in this country. In Italy, the food is never bad. Even in motorway service stations, it's excellent. The concierge recommended a restaurant. He said it was the best in Europe. That sounded good to me. I never found out the name of the place. It's easy to find, though, it's famous. We were seated in an ante-room with three other tables. There was an older American couple anda group of Japanese ladies. Then there was an Italian man with slicked hair and a hopeless grin, he was obviously pulling out all the stops for his companion, she was carrying a single red rose and she looked a bit awkward when the waiter took their photograph for them.

A 12-course extravaganza is a bad choice for a first date. Courses four, five and six are really for having a bit of a row and then you make up around the end of the fish courses, or the start of the meat, and by the time the desserts are arriving, it's better than it's ever been, darling. Claire told the sommelier to bring her what he thought was best with each course, which kind of put me on edge. It was one of those telephone directory sized wine lists. Serviettes were delivered to the table on silver salvers, and the chef had offered us two surprises, some special crackers, and three kinds of breads before the poached quail's egg with lettuce ketchup, the first course proper, had arrived.

It was going well. I thought I'd take advantage of the situation. I had noticed in the concierge's list of local events that Florence were playing Lazio at home the next day. Claire wasn't having any of it. I explained to her, what a wonderful spectacle a big Italian football match would be. She had her heart set on the ballet. I said, "But Lazio are a really good team, Paul Gascoigne used to play for them!" She said "I know."And then she said, "I snogged him once, at a party." I said, "Was that when he was really fat?" and we were at it gung-ho right on cue for course four.

The Americans, who were still having chef's surprises, looked on smugly. We squabbled through the mullet, the monkfish and the sole at which * * point I went to the bathroom. They are a joy, the bathrooms in posh restaurants. I washed my face, slicked back my hair, splashed on after-shave, and had a fag in the fumidor. I felt much better. I'd gone right off football and agreed to go to the ballet. The guinea hen, the duck breast with small sausage of duck and the venison noisettes went very smoothly. The Americans started to disagree about something, during their ravioli. I do wish people wouldn't argue in restaurants.

The Japanese were one course ahead of us, but we caught them up on the cheese. None of them wanted cheese. They're just not having cheese, in Japan. That annoyed me a bit. It's important to eat cheese you don't like. You start liking it eventually. I've been really persevering with pecorino, and now I love it. I was having the cheese explained to me, when the American man barged in to give the waiter a tip. It was crass. You always get the most crass people in these restaurants. The best restaurants in the world aren't actually the ones with the best food. The best restaurants are the ones with the best people in them. I love it when they explain the cheese in these places, though. It's the best bit, that and when they light your cigar for you.

Florence is not a cheap holiday. It's one of those places where you're always spending money. The ballet was a bargain, though. Like many of the buildings in the city, the interior of the Teatro Goldoni was sumptuous, but slightly faded. It was only a third full, but it was the most glamorous audience I've seen. There were four pieces, two contemporary, two more traditional. The curtain rose, a man was holding a rectangle on the stage. It was a prison cell, the rectangle, no, but wait! It was a door. His love arrives and they jump and spring around the rectangle. I looked at Claire and her eyes were shining. It was much better than football.

We went somewhere unfussy for dinner, Il Parione. It's what I've been looking for in London for years, an Italian restaurant that does simple food, really well. In many ways it was better than the poncey place. There is a real generosity about good restaurants in Italy. There were two soups on the menu, Claire ordered soup, and they bought her a little bowl of both of them. It made her feel special. I think girls do feel a bit special in Italy.

There are only so many amazing things you can see in a weekend. It's tiring, looking at amazing things. You can't miss the Duomo, the big Cathedral. It is a real wedding cake of a building. It's supposed to glorify God, and make you feel humble. It does make you feel giddy, when you look up. The Palazzo Vecchio, another essay in maximalism, around the corner has had all the furniture removed. It's a complete visual overload as it is. The ceilings are works of art, the walls are choc full of gilt framed portraits. The cornices, the architraves, the columns are all so elaborate. It makes Versace look very "high street".

I was keen to see the museums, but what I was really excited about was the food market, in the Piazza della Mercato Centrale. It didn't let me down. It was astonishing. There are dozens of stalls, some specializing in freshly made pasta, some in fruit and veg, some in vinegars and oils, bakers, fishmongers, butchers. We decided to look around the whole thing before buying anything, but a big smiley man was saying "Eh! Eh!" and waving a little taster of "Coppa" at us.

It's a fairly advanced variety of salami, coppa, not for the squeamish. It was delicious. Then he gave us some Parma ham, which he dunked in a little spicy jam. It was divine. I bought a whole leg. He got very excited about that and came back with his prize-winning salamis. I got quite excited about those. We were having a great time. Then he nodded and said "Now Cheese!" I bought a breezeblock of parmesan and a couple of pecorinos. I spent about five hundred quid, but it all keeps for ages. It was wonderful to be sold stuff by someone who was incredibly proud of his products, and an expert, and a showman.

There was just time for one more coffee at Gilli, the cappuccino and chocolate shop, before we left. Someone asked me for my autograph, it made the waiter's day. They had been eyeing me with some suspicion since I ordered a coffee at the bar and drank it at a table on the first night. But now we were friends. It started to rain, which is a fashion emergency. Fur coats dissolve in rainwater, and hairstyles are swept away. It was our cue to leave.

On the way to the airport we passed castles on sunny hilltops, needle cedars and olive groves. It was easy on the eye. Florence? It's one big restaurant, the best restaurant in Europe and girls love it.

TRAVELLER'S GUIDE

GETTING THERE

The writer travelled to Florence with Latitude (0870 443 4483; www.latitude-online.co.uk), which offers two-night stays at the Hotel Savoy from £530 each including breakfast, return flights from Gatwick to Pisa with British Airways and private transfers. Club Europe prices start at £800 per person.

Florence's Amerigo Vespucci airport remains closed until at least next month for runway maintenance. Until then, the nearest airport is Pisa Galileo Galilei, which is served by Ryanair (0906 270 5656; www.ryanair.com) from Glasgow, Liverpool and Stansted, easyJet (0905 821 0905; www.easyJet.com) from Bristol and British Airways (0870 850 9850; www.ba.com) and Meridiana (0845 355 5588; www.meridiana.it) from Gatwick.

To reduce the impact on the environment, you can buy an "offset" from climate care (01865 207 000; www.climatecare.org), which costs around £2.

STAYING THERE

Hotel Savoy, Piazza della Repubblica 7 (00 39 055 27 351; www.roccofortehotels.com). Doubles start at €306 (£218), room only.

EATING & DRINKING THERE

Enoteca Nazionale de Giorgio Pinchiorri (the poncey place), via Ghibellina 87 (00 39 055 242 757; www.enotecapinchiorri.com).

Il Parione, via del Parione (00 39 055 214 005).

Gilli, Piazza della Repubblica 3 (00 39 055 213 896; www.gilli.it).

VISITING THERE

Teatro Goldoni, via Santa Maria 15 (00 39 055 27 791).

Duomo, Piazza Duomo (00 39 055 215 380; www.duomofirenze.it).

Palazzo Vecchio, Piazza della Signoria (00 39 055 27 68 465; www.palazzovecchio.it).

FURTHER INFORMATION

Florence Tourist Board: 00 39 055 290 832; www.firenzeturismo.it.

Italian State Tourist Board: 020-7408 1254; www.enit.it.

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