THERE were a million things that needed work around the house. So when the chance arose of a few days off recently, I was in no doubt what to do with them. "Let's go to Venice," I told my wife.
And this is how we found ourselves last week in the world's most romantic city, standing on the Rialto bridge at dusk as the gondolas passed underneath, with misty-eyed Japanese tourists (surely "lovers"? - Ed) being serenaded by accordion players.
We couldn't afford a gondola ride on our budget, of course, having opted instead for a hotel room. And if I suggest that we went to Venice at the drop of a hat, this isn't quite true.
The only time you can visit Venice at the drop of a hat is during the off-season - which according to the guide books lasts for about the third week in January (and then only if it's snowing). If you're travelling at any other time, all the experts insist, you need to book a room several years in advance.
We managed to book one fairly late - probably because the hotel was badly located, in one of the more unpleasant price brackets. But when, upon arrival, I went to a tourist office for directions, I was interested to see a young American in front of me, who had had the barefaced Yankee cheek to turn up in Venice without a reservation.
Worse still, he wasn't prepared to spend more than 100,000 lira a night. So when the young woman behind the counter started ringing around the hotels for him, she was having some trouble restraining her mirth.
She knew most of the hotel people, of course, and each conversation would start with something like: "Ciao, Francesca!" Then she and Francesca would have a good laugh as they discussed the case of the American, and another laugh when they came to his budget.
Then the woman would say "Ciao" again and put down the phone, and shrug, and look at her list of hotels one more time and make the sound of a bicycle puncture through her lips before ringing another number and giving her friend Roberto a laugh as well.
I was enjoying this, maybe even more than she was. But the fun ended abruptly when, on only about the fourth attempt, she found the American a room. In a "very nice" hotel. And at about one-third of what we were paying.
SO much for the guide books. But one really useful tip I can give you about Venice hotels - and like all the really useful stuff you'll find nothing in the books about it - is that you should always check if there are shutters on your window.
This is especially true if you don't have an alarm clock with you. And if, like us, you're travelling with a very young child, you won't have an alarm clock with you. Because bringing a baby and an alarm clock just seems like overkill.
Anyway, the first day in Venice our baby went off several times during what we thought was the night. And because it was still pitch-dark, we pressed the snooze button each time and went back to sleep. But when, for maybe the fourth or fifth time, the baby tried to persuade us that based on all available data it was now morning, it occurred to me that I was feeling unusually well rested.
Which is when I phoned reception and found out it was midday. And this is when we realised we had shutters on our window.
Although we were several hours late for the prepaid breakfast, the hotel insisted we have it anyway. Maybe it was guilt about the prices they were charging; whatever, they were so generous with their facilities throughout that by the end of our stay I was worried they'd feel bad if we left the bathroom towels.
You don't meet many Venetians in Venice. Down the centuries, they've suffered from what our guide book called "plague, malaria and a plethora of damp-related diseases," and tourism seems to be finishing them off.
The few you do see have a morbid fear of the climate. Even though it was a balmy 20 degrees, every local person we met was wearing either a leather jacket, an overcoat or an anorak (a wellcut anorak, of course). Many wore a haunted look as well, which must come from living in a city overrun by stupid tourists.
`You don't meet many Venetians in Venice. Down the centuries, they've suffered from plague, malaria and a plethora of damp-related diseases, and tourism seems to be finishing them off'
By "stupid" tourists, I mean of course "other" tourists. But we got some idea of the problem when, one night, we heard singing from a church and peered in. Then a bouncer emerged from a neighbouring doorway to stop us - this was a service for local people. And we realised that in our unthinking curiosity we had behaved - sob! - like other tourists.
On the other hand, the great thing about travelling in Venice with a child is that the city is so accessible. And for readers who have a problem with irony, I should point out that I'm being deeply ironic here. In fact, Venice is about as pram-friendly as the pyramids.
There are steps everywhere you turn. We never did get to cross the famous "Bridge of Sighs" during our visit; but it didn't matter, because we crossed the bridge of groans, the bridge of muffled curses, and the bridge of sarcastic remarks instead, in both directions. AND the difficulty of getting around tended to influence the things we saw. So instead of climbing the campanile in Piazza San Marco, for instance, we just sat nearby in one of the square's historic cafes, drinking tea and coffee.
This cafe is still pretty much as it was in the 18th century, except of course for the prices, which are pretty much as they will be in cafes elsewhere around about the 23rd century. Also, the resident musicians now play stuff such as Andrew Lloyd Webber, the musical equivalent of malaria, plague and damp-related diseases. But if this discourages visitors, I'm all for it. For the moment, so easy is the living from tourism around San Marco that even the pigeons have weight problems.
For anyone who wants to find out more about the city, I recommend Thomas Mann's classic novel Debt in Venice. I haven't read it myself yet, but I think it's the tragic story of a guy who takes his family there to avoid doing up the spare room, and is then forced to confront the awful prospect of his next Visa bill.