Rotten Peanuts
Rotten Peanuts is an anagram of my name. So are Treetop Suntan and Eastern Pot Nut. But I always preferred Rotten Peanuts.
I was diagnosed with a peanut allergy when I was around 11 or 12. I had broken out in a rash, and been ill, some time after eating a Star Bar. The doctor told my mother I should probably lay off peanuts, after compiling a kind of “what have you eaten?” food diary for the previous couple of days, as it looked like I’d had a mild allergic reaction.
I did my best to avoid peanuts after that; peanut traces, I admit I would be blasé about. Peanut dishes though, satay and suya - not to mention the nut itself - I let go by me. Occasionally I would get the taste of peanut from something or other, a biscuit or a dessert usually, and spit the mouthful into my hand. So I always knew I wasn’t deathly allergic but I was wary enough to not swallow.
I used to think it was really cool that I had “Rotten Peanuts”as an anagram of my name; I used to disclose the fact when people ever asked if I had any allergies. Imagine that! Being allergic to peanuts and that being an anagram of your name?
A couple of weeks ago, I was out for a couple of pints. My friend went for the third round to the bar and came back with two pints… and a packet of salted peanuts.
I had been reading earlier that day a post on Substack which cited an old article about some allergies being “over-diagnosed” in childhood. I am well aware of the severity of allergies in some kids, there are some big ones in my own family, but to me I just didn’t believe I had it.
Two pints deep, I had what you might call Dutch Courage. I opened the packet, dropped a few peanuts into my hand, threw my head back and scoffed them. I waited for what I thought might feel like an allergic reaction but it didn’t arrive.
I slurped down a big drink of my pint, and savoured that particular combination for the first time in my life.
I will keep the name. I like Rotten Peanuts, and its anagram.