Venice Special Ah, Venice. The splendour, the splendour. Simply delightful. Well, another Biennale is over leaving us merely with the memories of those bright, giddy nights spent in quiet corners of Palazzos with as many Bellinis and young boys as you can stomach. The Biennale, as you all know, is all about the art. So here we go…

THE BIGGIE

Okey-dokey, let's start with the biggie. The British Council's party for Mark Wallinger was by far the most talked about party, partly due to the rumours about the heavy security and partly because the BC had hired out a whole island courtesy of city-folk Bloomberg. People fretted about security all week, with some genius resorting to nicking a box of the tacky blue bangles which served as passes. In the end the folks on the door were a mixture of heavy-handed aggression and airhead stupidity (exactly the brand image Bloomberg were going for presumably), so everyone got in. As for the party, well, even jaded old cynics like Artrumour were impressed. Top party moment goes to frieze and countereditions founder Matthew Slotover. Previously known as one of the most level headed people in the art world, Matthew was discovered challenging all-comers to wrestle for the bits of white foam which were doubling as seats, and indeed, doing a passing imitation of sumo. Expect to see those white foam thingies on the cover of frieze imminently.

NOW STUFF THAT REALLY MATTERS

It pains Artrumour to say this, but Damien Hirst's Dirk Bogarde-stylee white suit was lovely. Despite looking the business Hirst ruined his sartorial one-upmanship by getting into a passionate argument with a young artist who would only be identified as 'Dallas', about the latter's cowboy hat ("It's shit. Take it off. It's shit. Why are you wearing it? It's shit."). No-one could quite understand why Hirst was so annoyed until news of Friday's Evening Standard piece on the Biennale drifted back. It featured Hirst wearing, erm, a cowboy hat.

CLOTHES

Laurie McKella's dress. Keith Allen's naval jacket. Although his display earlier in the week of removing his clothes and the subsequent 'dirty protest' was even more startling.

ACCESSORIES

Violent doormen were this year's essential accessory with the Portugeuse surpassing themselves. The folks on their door seemed to be straight from Italy's version of Group 4 and particularly enjoyed themselves hurling various B-list folk of the art world against the walls of the Palazzo. Meanwhile down at the Brazilian party, the doormen perhaps surpassed their line of duty by refusing to let Vik Muniz in, despite Muniz being one of the Brazil's two official artists showing in the Brazil pavilion.

AND THE PRIZES GO TO...

...art which we knowingly nodded at: Keith Tyson

art which we seriously contemplated: Luc Tuymans

art which was insane but splendid: Atelier Van Lieshout

art we wept uncontrollably at: Salla Tykka

art at which we harrumphed in disappointment: Paul Pfeiffer

art which smelt: Ernesto Neto

art for Matthew Slotover: Roderick Buchanan's piece about boxing knockdowns

art showing man with nice bottom: Heimo Zobernig

art not to have a hangover crisis in: Mike Nelson

PARTYING CANADIANS

Meanwhile the Canadian folks simply could not stop partying (four at final count), partly because Janet Cardiff and George Bures Miller were winning every prize going. Cardiff and Miller's installation, 'The Paradise Institute' was the undoubted hit of the Biennale despite the crazily long queues for it. For those of you who didn't get in, Artrumour can offer you a virtual Cardiff/Miller experience. Take you to take yourself down a cinema. Find an obscure but beautiful movie which makes little sense and insist on sitting in the balcony with personal headphones on playing back sounds of people eating and chatting. After ten minutes or so, do the decent thing with a single shot to the temple. Splendid.

PISSING GERMANS

Alternatively you could simply piss yourself. The German pavilion had to be temporarily closed down because a viewer had a quiet leak in a corner of the Gregor Schneider installation. Stories of art vandalism were quickly replaced by the realisation that the queuing involved to get in (almost as much as Canada) had simply overcome the poor art lover.

BEST CANAPES

The Bernesse Foundation. But how do you get those baby Mozzarellas and cherry tomatoes drizzled with extra virgin all in your mouth at the same time without spraying everyone you're chatting to?

MOST PUZZLING PARTY

The fig-1 book launch. You were invited to wander through a maze of streets in the afternoon sun before rocking up at an eerily quiet party in an overwhelmingly beautiful palazzo where there was no sign of the fig-1 book. Instead you were invited to take a copy of 'Tate' - the magazine with critical acumen to match its covers. Just, hello?

FLOP

Biggest repeated let down of Biennale was the Guggenheim and Americans in general. The Gug party was a yawn, the Tom Ford dinner for Serra clashed with the Brit Council island extravaganza, and the Vanessa Beecroft performance was rubbish. Sticking Philip Treacy 'Max Ernst' style hats on the heads of naked gals (complete with the Brazilian) and standing them in the surrealist room does not make you clever. Bring back your sister.

MORE FLOP

And Robert Gober….oh cheer up for fucks sake.

EVEN MORE FLOP

And whilst we're on a yank rant, the Serra pieces were terrible. Originally intended for Plaza Santa Margarita, they had to be moved when the local council objected to having two big curvy pissoirs situated in the middle of the square. So they were moved to an outpost of the Arsenale where they sat and sulked. Having already sponsored the farrago that was the 'Years of Pop' thing at the Pompidou, it seems that if you're putting up a show of big, vapid art and need a few thousand squids, Mr Ford might be the person to call.

MYSTERY CORRESPONDENTS

Surely you've had enough? If not, get a proper job. Or alternatively, check out our new mystery correspondents who kept a diary of their days in Venice: http://www.artrumour.com/diary.htm

END OF THE WEEK: INSIDE GOINGS-ON

And if that isn't enough to get to you to hit our web-site, from the end of this week we'll be serialising the inside goings-on behind the screening of the Waldemar Januszczak blockbuster series on Picasso. Discover John Richardson's whale's penis, trying to find pubic hair in Coruna and other such delights.