Hi! My name is James Knight. When I am not sticking things in my ass or falling off my bike and smashing my face in, I also happen to enjoy suffering from a potentially fatal allergy to nuts. While I have slowly grown used to the fact that I will never be able to gorge myself on Nutella or Ferrero Rocher, every now and then a nut will sneak its way into whatever I'm eating and try and internally choke me into anaphylactic shock while my body swells up like I've been fucking in some stinging nettles for an hour straight. Don't believe me? Take a look at my back…I tend to almost die every few years so it's dulled the whole scariness a little, but anyhoo… This time around I was enjoying the only actual summer weekend that London's seen so far in 2008 with a nice spread at a Turkish place on the Southbank with my girlfriend, her sister Nat, Nat's husband Ben, and their tiny little baby Romy.Mid-chomp on some delicious-looking tabouleh stuff, my mouth went all tingly (I'm so allergic that any nut-contact sets my tongue pulsing like a nut-triggered Spidey sense). On asking my girlfreind's sister what exactly it was I was eating she innocently replied "nut salad".After a go at throwing the whole lot up in the restaurant's toilets and getting a lot of cut eyes from the waiting staff I decided it would be a good idea to strip down to my pants and try and itch out the encroaching full body rash in the park opposite the restaurant. Romy seemed pretty unperplexed by the whole thing and just carried on trying to eat her feet.As my lungs began to turn into a grip-like vise my girlfriend decided that it would probably be a good idea to get me to casualty. Next thing I knew I was sitting in a bed in St Thomas's all groggy and having adrenaline, IV piriton, and hydrocortezone pumped into my arm while being monitored for vital signs.Thank you Bella for making sure that I live to see next weekend. If it's sunny I'm sticking to beer. And hoping that I haven't suddenly inherited my old man's wheat allergy.JAMES KNIGHT
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