My friend got a peanut stuck up his nose when he was five. He survived (although he might not have done had he been in a car crash at the time). I am not disappointed; I didn't know him when he was five, and it is not a particularly impressive story to say that someone you never knew died with a peanut up their nose.
Some people are allergic to nuts, as well. Just pop one nut in their gob and they blow chunks every which way but loose and any which way you can. It gets even worse; some people cannot be in the same room as a cashew without their heads caving in. The very worst case of recorded nut allergy was Dionysius Taylor, a very old man who actually exploded when exposed to Pistachio shells. With a force equivalent to two bombs. Took out a whole house and startled a couple of nesting tits.
So you can see - I wasn't taking my journey to the shops lightly. These nuts were fucking lethal. So, I was to buy a bag of nuts, not dally with the pretty assistants, get the nuts home and eat them before they ate me.
How different a result fate had planned for me that day....
I checked my money - the exact change. Take two bags to the counter, one to give to the cashier with the money - they need the barcode, you see - and one with which to run frantically to my designated nut gobbling spot - the local pub. Nuts are fearsome, but not so stupid as to start a fight in The Spayed Cat.
Hat, money, gun.... yes, the gun was there. Just in case. It wasn't even loaded. Well, of course it was loaded, there's no point carrying an unloaded gun, but it only had small bullets in it. I didn't want to be a hero, but I didn't want to be a dead not-hero either. Not that there's anything heroic about fighting nuts - I'm not glamourising this whole situation, you know. Just a man's got to cover his arse. Especially when there's an army of hazelnuts trying to cram themselves up there.
Hat, money, gun, wig, trolley, torch, knife, case, spare hat just in case, spare money completely in case, myself not in case at all. I was just about ready.
It was no use entering the shop now. I had to reassess the whole situation. Before the Tobago Chili nuts could correct themselves for another assault, I grabbed them, threw 50 pence into the shop and ran, ran like the runs. I tried not to look around at the distubance behind me, but in the days to come I would read about enraged nuts and the tragic dry roasting of a pregnant woman.
The Spayed Cat. Refuge in a crazy world. I reeled towards the bar. And there was Peggy, sweet Peggy, stood with her wobbling back to me. An oasis of soothing eyewater in a world where zebras are so cruelly camoflauged in patently unsuitable colours. Her tumbling hair glistened, whether with natural sheen or the glow of lard from the deep fat fryer, I didn't know. I appreciated the way her arse rippled as she let slide a discrete fart that only I noticed. I felt closer to her than I ever had done before, sharing that fart. I set my Tobago Chili nuts on the counter.
Peggy turned around. She looked different. By the time I'd realised that Peggy was in fact a 5'10" cashew nut wearing Peggy's scalped hair, it was too late. Damn, but that nut had hips....