ALL OF WHICH MAKES for an interesting diversion, but still leaves me standing outside a tattoo parlour on a farm with a strange Polish character by my side. He had found a Hermetic Rosy Cross, but the design was slightly different and the colours vastly different from the one on my arm. Which seemed to amuse him no end. “You’ve f****d up, West. You got the wrong colours!” He pointed at the picture on the wall. “See? Blue and red. Not green and red. Are you colourblind?”
Considering what he was wearing, I decided not to answer that question. Instead, I moved off towards the next row of stalls.
There were no chemicals on sale here. Various clubs and societies had sent along representatives to hand out brochures and application forms. They were also selling shirts, caps, and sundry other br
