After the incident with the car I am not in the best frame of mind to start a print-making course in the evening. Naked flames, nitric acid, rollers you can scrunch finger bones in. I throw a tantrum and refuse to file metal until I am given a mask and goggles. Then I fall downstairs.
By the art school acid bath I note that my eye has changed while I've been drawing under the Westway: I see Rasta colours everywhere.