The problem with squid is that it can be really tricky to skin if it's not fresh. Mind you if it's not fresh, it can be pretty tricky to keep down (if you get my meaning). By the time that I had squeezed my way through the crowds down at the waterfront and had puffed my way up towards the Via Andea, both I and the squid had warmed up a fair bit. I hurried for my rooms and braved the corridor of cats that were all awake and waiting. It was as if some sixth sense had informed them that there was an ageing primate heading their way wilting under the weight of a couple of small squid and a good supply of fish heads. Perhaps it was the smell, after all I was comming in down the wind . You could see it in their eyes: the stupid monkey was bound to drop something as he wrestled with the door. It was with a certain sense of achievement that I made it into my room without dropping anything. A large number of emotionless green eyes turned away and their owners resumed a position of quiet coolness on the floor. Stupid cats, I thought. Stupid primate, thought the cats. Inside, the room looked as though a bomb had gone off.