Another whole day in Madrid stretched in front of me this morning so I didn't rush. I bought some bread and ate a picnic breakfast in Parque de El Retiro, a shady retreat for Madrileños when it's warmer than today, then crossed back to the Thyssen Gallery. Why yet another gallery after yesterday evening in the Prado? Well, yes, I am a bit arted out but I remember the international competition for the Thyssen collection back in the 80s and a rather snobbish surprise in Britain that Spain got it. Not the best reason to go to a gallery, but still...

As it happened, the first room I went into had the only Rembrandt so that was a good start, and then I found a new way to engage myself. Rather than, 'Would I hang this on my wall?' A: Almost never. I'm asking, for anything representational, 'If I saw this in front of me would I get out the camera? A, it turns out: Yes for interesting light (low, night or highly contrasted), for interesting shapes (there aren't many), for people at work, for Dutch interiors and especially, if I dared, those with people. Still lives and realistic flowers? Oh Lord save me. And as for imaginary naked women, especially those with large circles where the breasts should be? Me too - get your filthy paintbrush off.

I found it a comprehensive and accessible collection, though I wasn't wild abut the orange walls, and emerged feeling I'd learnt a little. I was pleased too at the small exhibition  of avant-garde Russian women painters in the early 20th century.

There are two non-urgent things I'd like to buy that I thought I might be able to find at a reasonable price in Spain so I took a scenic route to a secondhand camera shop. As it happened, they had the lens hood (parasol!) I wanted but only new and very expensive, so I passed on that. But the bonus was that I was in a new neighbourhood and wandering home took me to a strangely mixed African/anarchist area. African street sellers were making their way home to Nelson Mandela Square with their illicit bundles of sunglasses and T-shirts. Opposite the Senegalese restaurant is an entry-forbidden building occupied by people (white, as far as I could see) who have painted 'It's not a crisis, it's capitalism' on the walls. The adjoining street , Calle de Amparo, is visibly poor - mostly selling festival tat in bulk - and as I turned out of it into Travesia Comadre, the feel was so instantly and shockingly different that I stepped back to check. Yes, a front line. I have never felt one so strongly. Travesia Comadre is nondescript but sure enough, the next street down had gentrified shops.

A treat of an evening meal in El Sur (for the gentrified such as me, of course): excellent tapas for one at the bar with a waiter happy to help me with Spanish.