It was not the most auspicious start. "We have a slight delay," announced a British Airways steward at 1.30 on Wednesday afternoon. And this was 40 minutes after we had boarded our flight to Venice.

I was off to the Biennale, the world's biggest art fest... or rather not off. BA had chosen the wrong flight for delays as the plane was full of passengers, some important, some self-important, on the way to the Biennale. Two passengers in particular, Princess Michael of Kent, in other words Princess Pushy, and Marco-Pierre White, the very volatile chef and one-time business partner of Damien Hirst, should not be messed with.

By 2.45pm we were told that our plane was not able to fly over the alps because of a technical fault. Unfortunately the alps were in the way of the flight to Venice. Finally more than two hours after we were due to leave we were told we would have to get off the plane and board another.

The Princess and her husband, Prince Michael of Kent, who really does look like his ancestor George V, took it surprisingly well. "I'm going there in my capacity as a committee member of Save Venice," said the Princess. Venice has needed saving from the rising water for decades, so I suppose a few hours delay would not matter.

White, who is a keen art collector and amateur artist, was not quite so calm. Like the rest of us he got off the plane, but only as there was no alternative. With his blood visibly boiling like one of his steamed puddings, he started to argue with BA and said he was refusing to fly on the alternative plane, depsite assurances it would leave in about 15 minutes. It turned out White was right. The back up plane didn't leave until 4.40, or 5.40 Venice time, nearly four hours after the planned departure.

Most of us on board were going to miss both meetings, exhibitions and, of course, the main show of different countries art work in the Giardini, the huge gardened exhibition space in Venice.

At least my journey was made slightly more enjoyable by sitting next to two nice Australian ladies, one a curator, the other her artist friend, who'd come all the way from Sydney via London to get to Venice. They were full of gossip about their compatriot, the actress Cate Blanchett, who is a keen art collector, and full of bile about Nicole Kidman. "Why on earth did she go and marry that bloke who then has to go off for rehab," asked the curator.

Eventually we landed and at Venice airport and I got chatting with Rachel Whiteread, who had represented Britain at the 1997 Biennale. In fact she was the last female British artist to be given the honour before this year's representative, Tracey Emin. Whiteread and her husband had booked a speedboat from the airport to zoom them into Venice. They asked me if I wanted to join them. Of course I did, as it would only take 15 minutes, so much quicker than the airport bus or the Vaporetto, which takes 75 minutes.

But the speedboat wasn't there. Instead, after hasty renegotiation we were shoved into a mini-van to drive into Venice. "This is not the romantic vision I had of arriving by boat," said Whiteread, who is best known for her huge sculptures.

On the way into the city she asked me if I had seen, in London, the latest Damien Hirst extravaganza which was unveiled at the weekend. His jewelled skull is, of course, selling for £50 million. I told her I had seen it but was not overly impressed, though I think he is an extraordinarily brilliant marketing genius. I asked Whiteread what she thought. "It makes me sick," she replied. What the skull? "No, Damien," she replied again. "Are you sick with jealously about the money he makes?" I ask. "What do you think?" She replied. "But I'd better say no more". She did add though that she likes Tracey Emin and her work.

I eventually got into my hotel late into the evening just in time for a couple of parties. The Australian soiree was held at the very posh Palazzo Zenobio. I'd gone there with high hopes as in BA's in-flight magazine, High Life, Emin has said that in 2005, the last Biennale, it had had the best food. Frankly it was okay, at least I enjoyed the Australian artist Callum Morton's house sculpture on display. The better party, perhaps surprisingly, was Iceland's bash.

Thursday morning dawned grey and very wet in Venice. I made up for lost time and went immediately to Emin's show at the British Pavilion. It was, unsurprisingly, confessional work about her life, with its mix of drawings, water colours, neons and sculptures. The most interesting revelation which she told me about was her relationship (decidedly platonic) with Canon Toby Forward of Liverpool Cathedral. She met him three years ago after she'd been commissioned to do a sculpture outside the church. Forward, who is a very enlightened cleric, has written a rather remarkable essay in Emin's catalogue.

I had 20 minutes with Emin chatting about work, life and Venice. I have to say she has mellowed as a person. Who knows maybe Toby Forward is the man to give guidance to her life.

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