Madrid, Spain

Coman's appearance in Madrid is a long time coming. It's almost 11.30pm before the knock on the hotel door comes, as I'm flicking through the rather hilarious Spanish ads that run between game shows. To kill time beforehand I've had a lazy wander along the Gran Via and popped into El Jamon, a tapas bar, for some Iberico ham, manchego cheese and San Miguel, but it's just filling the hours until we're reunited.

And here he is, bursting with life and excitement fresh from the airport while I'm almost asleep. He's been working stupidly hard over in Ireland and can't wait for our few days in the sun to start. Good for him! Now let's go to bed...

Friday morning sees us foregoing the over-priced breakfast fare of Hotel Emperador and heading out in search of something more exciting. But we don't bank on what happens next. At a lovely little cafe called Pepe Pepe, where we order salmon and dill flatbreads and rocket-fuel coffee, we're awaiting our repast when the most deafening explosion makes everyone leap out of their skin. We turn around and the plate glass door behind us has shattered sending thousands of pieces of glass showering onto the floor.

It's a miracle no-one's been injured, particularly the poor young chap it transpires had been trying to fix a problem with it as it exploded all around him. Slightly dazed he dusts himself down and heads in the direction of a dustpan and brush while we return to our breakfast, hearts racing with the double whammy of caffeine and adrenaline.

Pepe Pepe is round the corner from the gorgeous Plaza Oriente which houses the Teatro Real, Catedral de Almuneda and most impressively the Palacio Real, a gargantuan and somewhat breathtaking palace consisting of 2800 rooms. Built by the Bourbon king Philip V, starting in 1734, it's a vast granite building with a huge central courtyard facing the cathedral and is, unsurprisingly, one of the top tourist attractions in Madrid.

Fortunately for us - and despite the fantastically sunny weather - it's still low-season so there's no queues and we hand over our €10 and waltz on in to view the baroque splendour. In usual fashion for these places, photography is not allowed but it's amazing how adept we are at deception, answering important emails on a blackberry that just seems to snap pics accidentally each time I check the inbox.

The upside to all this is that people flow through the spectacularly decorated state rooms without tripping over each other trying to get the best shots. The downside is that none of the snatched jpegs do justice to the quite magnificent splendour on display. And of course, the palace exit leads straight out through the gift shop where books of lovely photos are cannily placed to tempt the unsuccessful photographer.

But we are not without visual memories so resist the souvenirs and wander across to the cathedral instead and then down the hill to the Campo del Moro, a formal park that lies below the palace and affords a rather fine view of it. The shaded paths meander around, past statues and fountains, across the main road from the Rio Manzanares that flows through Madrid. We spend a bit of time exploring but, in need of water, we head back up the hill to the Plaza Oriente and find a shop selling refreshments and fridge magnets. Result!

Next stop is the Mercado de San Miguel. Established in 1915 this temple de tapas is a bustling, fascinating place to grab a glass of wine and a small plate of patatas gratin, jamon tostada and queso y seva quiche, all of which we do, sadly missing out on the fabulous prawns, octopus, squid and razor clams which Coman loathes.

From there it's a moment's walk to Plaza Mayor, Madrid's equivalent of St Mark's Square, through which a keen wind is whistling making the al fresco dining experience just a touch more refreshing than we'd like. It doesn't stop Coman having sangria and chorizo alongside my beer and patatas aioli though, and we soak up the sun considering all the heretics burnt here during the days of the Inquisition, our weary feet having walked a good few miles by this point.

It's mid-afternoon by now and with a blazing ball of fire above us it seems daft not to retire to the rooftop pool of the Emperador, which is the entire reason we're staying there. Surprisingly, even though it only gets about 30 days of rain a year, Madrid doesn't boast many hotels with pools, preferring to sell itself more on its culture, nightlife, art and cuisine heritage than as a place to chill out.

Well, there's no reason you can't do both and despite the hotel being a little bit faded in other aspects, what awaits us on the roof is a rare oasis of tranquility amidst Madrid's bustling, noisy whirl. A gorgeous pool, sunloungers a-plenty, a garden space and a bar and restaurant ensure that Coman gets his tan and I get to gaze out towards mountains whilst drinking a chilled cava.

It's the perfect precursor to a proper disco nap; night time here we come...