The butcher is allergic to almost everything (meat’s the obvious exception). He wears special socks, gloves and underclothes to combat the nefarious surfaces of his profession, but still needs one of the boys to make the sausages.
He was a late bloomer in terms of allergies; first it was pollen in the spring of his fourteenth year, then synthetic rubber at an age-grade rugby tournament…
Lately he’s noticed watching television gives him a rash. He can’t explain it, but he’s used to sloughing off parts of life he’d otherwise thought essential.
Only his allergy to religion seems to be abating.