Hamburg

I am in the corridor of an old hospital ward. In the room, the brown covered bed is faced by a large landscape painting of a small white temple next to a river. There is another room, similarly decorated. I have a headache.

This was the point in the Hamburg Museum where I think I reached my modern art limit. I had enjoyed seeing the famous Warhol works, Marilyn and the Soup. Then there'd been other pieces that had certainly piqued my interest but after a neon sign in some wire netting saying 1 + 1 = 2, burnt walls, a floor covered in gravel and now this hospital for healing through art my brain called time and I stumbled out into the rain and murk.

In the food court a man in a top hat walks round and round the revolving doors, then comes in and starts a tirade of abuse at the delicatessen counter, perhaps they have served him a bad olive. A large and somewhat intimidating man with a shaved head picks him up, pushes him back through the revolving doors and throws him into the street. Top hat begins to harangue people entering and an old man who wants to leave sits down next to me so that he can avoid the commotion. I enjoy what the delicatessen counter served me. It is chicken with sun dried tomatoes.