I meet Tracey Emin for an interview, which will run in the Sunday Times this weekend. "Have you been nice to me before?" she asks. I say: "Yes," though the fact is that I have occasionally been a tad critical.

Nonetheless, she has mellowed over the years and is a genuinely generous person who has put in some of her own money to renovate the tacky British pavilion at the Biennale. She is also flying out a bunch of her non-arty friends from Britain to see her show over the weekend and have dinner with her.

Her exhibition, which, yes, is very much about her, has got mixed to good reviews. This year, the British, German and French pavilions, which all have pride of place in the Giardini exhibition area, all have female artists representing their countries. Inside the German show I chatted to one of their journalists about Emin. "In Germany she really is huge. Only Damien Hirst is on a par with her. In fact, they're more talked about than German artists."

The American pavilion, with the work of Felix Gonzalez, was particularly crowded with visitors as were the pavilions of the Russians and Australians. I popped into the Uruguay pavilion, which has a pretty prominent position in the Giardini - perhaps more prominent than the country's current state in the world either artistically or diplomatically.

The pavilions in the Giardini were all set up before World War II so reflect different countries' status at the time. I was the only person in there, which was a bit sad, as was the show itself. Ernest Vila had painted and then cut out some portraits of people who had disappeared under the dictatorship of the 1970s.

It was fascinating to see how many of the emerging and/or the very troubled have brought their art to Venice, although they’re often showing in exhibition space they have set up for themselves outside the Giardini. Afghanistan, Azerbaijan, Haiti and the four Stans are in their own Central Asian pavilion. Borat would be proud.

Early evening and it was party time. First the American bash in the Peggy Guggenheim Museum which was very posh and smart with good food and lots of rich Americans talking about their collections.

I then thought I should be patriotic and go to see how the Welsh and the Scots were fairing. The Welsh had their pavilion and party on the island of Giudecca where they share a building with Lebanon - yes, war-torn Lebanon. Their main artist is Richard Deacon, who might have been born in Wales but has never lived there. It was a sweet little party full of young people and sausage rolls.

The Scots had chosen the grander Palazzo Zenobio. Maybe 9.30 was too early to arrive, but the party was a bit dull.

I then wandered around Venice and saw many churches being used for the Biennale opening. In one church, Bill Viola had installed three of his videos showing people being washed away by torrents of water. In another church there was an opera on and in yet another, a classical concert.

It was getting very late, but I wanted to go to the Ukrainian party. Why Ukraine? Well, Emin was going and two British artists, Sam Taylor-Wood and Mark Titchner, were exhibiting. Why? Partly because the curator Peter Doroshenko, who runs the Baltic Centre in Gateshead, is of Ukrainian extraction, but also because Ukraine itself may not have the greatest artists in the world. Hence, the Brits.

Unfortunately, I could not find the Ukrainian exhibition and party even though I knew it was near the Rialto bridge. I asked and searched, searched and asked. It got very late and I gave up. Catching a boat back to my hotel, I spotted the Ukrainian venue from my boat - fleetingly like Dirk Bogarde when he wistfully saw the young boy he loved in Death in Venice. I got off at the next stop and took another boat back and eventually found the venue. But my name was not on the list. So I was banned by the Ukrainians. I now know how Putin feels about them.

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