Instead, we turned to the Rough Guide, surely the closest modern equivalent of Baedeker. However, I don't know if "Rough" is the right appellation for its fastidious critiques: "Titian's Assumption is a piece of compositional and colouristic bravura for which there was no precedent in Venetian art."Aside from the risk of bankruptcy by succumbing to the lure of a stratospherically priced cappuccino in Cafe Florian, one of the main dangers of Piazza San Marco is being biffed by a kamikaze pigeon. As far as I know, this is the only tourist guide ever to have been serialised on Radio 4, but despite its wit and geniality, we rarely consulted the chunky tome. Instead, I consumed a massive plateful of the creatures for dinner that night. Rich, piquant, unctuous, it was also, without doubt, the murkiest dish I've ever consumed. By the end, my napkin resembled one of those uncompromising works of black and white expressionism by Franz Kline. I bet they're washing it still.At my pleading, Mrs W lugged round JG Links's acclaimed Venice for Pleasure during our perambulations of the city (she was the one with the handbag).

Lacking cooking facilities, I pondered long and hard about the possibility of hauling a kilo or two of seppie in nero back on the plane, but memories of a previous misfortune, when some oysters I brought back from Amsterdam started leaking from an overhead locker, made me reluctantly decide against An inky deluge would have taken a bit of explaining. Cuttlefish cooked in its own ink is a speciality of the under-rated Venetian cuisine. After some searching, I spotted it sticking upright in a reliquary with gnarled black toes and the skin peeling off the rest of her foot (Mrs W thought it was size 4) as if the saint hadn't rubbed on enough sun factor 6...The noir theme continued at the Rialto fish market, where I spent a good while musing over the trays of cephalopods. Though the colossal space was magnificent, I must admit to a morbid reason for our visit. I had retained a yellowing clipping from this very newspaper referring to an item in the church which the writer said: "I cannot recommend too highly." It was the foot of St Catherine of Sienna. Tottering uncertainly on spindly high heels, a tulle-wrapped figure emitted distinctly baritone growlings from beneath its gorgeous full-face mask.Having managed to draw my partner away from the blank-faced apparitions, we hit the culture trail First stop was a medieval church called San Zanipolo. While crossing the famous bridge, Mrs W's dark suspicions were confirmed about the gender of many of the revellers who had adopted female personas.

Near the Rialto, a 20ft long, eight-person caterpillar bunched up realistically as it examined a menu. On the returning vaporetto, an elaborately veiled femme fatale chatted with a pair of Christmas trees festooned with baubles and tinsel.Back on dry land - if anywhere in Venice can be so described - we shared a restaurant table with a pointy-hatted wizard and a woman dressed as the moon. It took me a while to realise that they were not en route to some party The whole of Venice was the party. On the beach at the Lido, I saw a Chinese courtesan partnered by a 6ft bumble bee. As hundreds of thousands of lire fluttered from her hands in exchange for elaborate constructions in leather and feathers, my own face was transformed into a mask of saint-like forbearance.The more elaborate confections withdrew from public gaze at the end of the day, leaving hundreds of Casanovas (the legendary librarian was this year's official theme) to weave through the alleyways in endless congas along with sheiks, pussycats, Clockwork Orange droogs and moustachioed Mexicans.