I’m unsure whether our magnificent mystic, with her rich, Hungarian accent, her jingly-jangly jewellery, her flowy satin cape and her untameable black wig is channelling the ambitions of SC6 or if it’s part of her prophecy. I don’t suppose it matters. I doubt Faith is regarding Zelda as a divinely gifted oracle either. A reading from her is all about the entertainment – and, boy, does Zelda, put on a show. Cabinets filled with tinctures and herbs surround us and a short table supports a Ouija board, tarot cards and what appears to be a book of spells. A camera hangs from the ceiling above, positioned to zoom in. Sage incense burns in a metal thurible on the floor.

Lettered in fluorescent ink on the studio walls are proverbs and sayings. A broken watch is right two times a day. Do not mistake temptation for opportunity. Watch your thoughts, they become your destiny. No one is too old for fairy tales. Throughout the studio, paintings of the occult – witches, angels and goaty-looking half-men – are faintly lit. I peer into the darkness. Rows of empty spectator chairs are just visible in the gloom. Zelda locked the soundproof doors behind us on our entrance. Paranormally sceptic, I’m a bit afraid I’ll see a ghost.

Zelda rearranges the folds of her cape and kisses the amulet around her neck. It’s deathly quiet. The lamp behind her casts grim shadows on the crevices of Zelda’s face.

‘Okay, so what happens, Zelda, is this,’ Faith says, breaking the spooky spell. ‘Each Wednesday, I bring a new man on set and Gracie teaches me to cook a meal for him. They’re not really dates. It’s all for show.’

‘Ah, I know this,’ Zelda says, with a wink. ‘Tell me, who are these dates?’

‘We had Toby the banker, a friend from work.’ Faith omits saying she had him before the show. ‘Today, we had Ben the dentist, my actual dentist.’ Whose toothbrush ran audibly out of batteries as he was kissing Faith goodbye and she decided not to pursue it. ‘Next week it’s DJ Bassdog, a friend of Poppy’s.’ Who Faith is looking forward to meeting, having been told he has piercings placed all over him, for ultimate pleasure.

‘What is bass dog?’ Zelda shrieks with laughter. ‘Is dog? Ah! Never mind. So, dates are not real. Okay, we begin.’

Closing her eyes, Zelda begins a rumbling chant. Ah-sha-ha-ba Sha-ba-sha-kala, she hums, over and over, raising her hands high above her head. AH-SHA-BA-KA-LA. At one point, she half-opens her eyelids and I observe her pupils have disappeared inside the back of her sockets. Faith looks at me nervously. She’s lucky there’s no mention of any storms of doom so far.

After a minute of such theatrics, Zelda announces in a booming voice, ‘The spirits have spoken!’

‘What did they say?’ Faith whispers excitedly.