Tag: the itchy and scratchy show

The Last-But-One Session

Today saw my last-but-one phototherapy appointment at the hospital. It was my 25th session and I’m feeling crumbly.

My eczema is much better for the treatment, but it dries me out so much that I sometimes look like Jacob Marley from Scrooged. What do you mean, you don’t get that reference? It’s top-five Bill Murray. Kids today. Fine. Pictured above.

It’s hard work as eczema treatment goes. I have to vaccum the flat every day lest we become ankle-deep in flakes.

Unfortunately, I shed as fast as I can suck so it makes no difference. I’m like that cleaner from the Monsters Inc. factory who leaves a trail of slime as quickly as he mops. That a better reference for you is it? Kids. Honestly, I’ll have to start putting up signs. “Your brow must be this high to ride this ride.”

The best shedding day saw my whole back peeling off in big salty curls. For a morning I knew what it was like to have feathers.

I plucked one off deliciously, saying “thish one’s a keeper.” Any good? Goldmember. 2002. Dividing the room that one, I can tell.

“Don’t pick it,” said Samara don’t-fall-off-you’ll-spoil-the-holiday Leibowitz, “get your creeaaam.”

If I had a penny for every time I got my creeaaam…

Anyway. As I said, today was the last-but-one session. I got in the tube and was blasted with the now-familiar UV rays. Well, I say “now-familiar” but there was a lot of excitment at the hospital this week because, and I quote, “we’ve got a new bulb.”

The dematology nurses have become used to me and I can tell they’re going to miss my Singing Detective references. There’s an end-of-term vibe in the department and they keep asking me what I’m going to do next.

Well, they ask me that every time, but they usually mean in the short term. “Home to get my creeaaam,” is the only answer I can ever give them.

But they mean longer-term now. Travel plans. Career moves. That sort of thing. They’re moving on themselves because the hospital is being demolished. These appointment have been like stepping into a chapter of Swing Hammer Swing! Look, don’t make me tap the sign. Jeff Torrington didn’t die for me to have to tap the sign. This high, I said.

My first walks to the hospital looked like this:

But now they looks like… well, I haven’t taken a picture of how it looks now because it’s not very dramtic, but this shot should do the job:

My final session is on Monday, which is lucky because I’m not sure I can lose any more parts. I’m to feel like Brundlefly. No good? Oh naff orf.

And then, as I told the nurses, I fly to Paris to begin a two-month period of travel. Paris, Utrecht, Amsterdam, Barcelona, Zagreb, Belgrade, Athens, and (assuming they let me in) Montreal. Beat that.

I didn’t say “beat that” to the nurses. While I’m out there, they’ll be stuck here, breathing concrete dust. Mind you, I’ll be still breathing bits of myself wherever I go.

I’ll miss my little chats with the nurses. I’ll never see them again, but, if they want me they can follow the trail of feathers.

*

If you’re affected by cripsy skin, call the National Eczema Society on 020 7281 3553.

Itchy-Scratchy

I’ve been feeling a bit itchy-scratchy lately and struggling to relax.

It’s partly because of having too much to do — the ideas and the burden still moving around in my mind when I’m trying to relax — and partly because of an eczema flare that’s been going on for over a year.

Thankfully, there’s light at the end both tunnels. In the eczema department, I’ve been getting phototherapy. This involves reporting to hospital three times a week to stand in a sunbed-like tube and being blasted with UV light for about a minute.

It’s the sort of thing that seems destined to make me a superhero or give me cancer, but I’ll settle for unitchy, unscabby, elastic, unreddened, non-flayed, unsore skin. I only have five sessions left, so this standing appointment can soon be scratched (as it were) from my bloated schedule.

In terms of being too busy (a shameful state for a proud idler), the end of October sees the end of multiple projects. Then I’ll be travelling for a month or two: Utrecht, Amsterdam, Barcelona, Zagreb, Belgrade, Athens, Montreal. This is a genuine attempt to get away from it all and I’m looking forward to it. I like being out in the world with nothing to do. I’ll be with Johnston for the European cities and Samara for the Canadian one. Escaaaaape!

Until then, I’ve been resorting to my favourite ’90s telly comedy to relax: deep dives into Adam & Joe, Red Dwarf, and Lee & Herring. This is something I usually try to avoid — to consume new stuff, new culture, instead of falling back on old favourites — but I’m embarrassingly tired and, as I said, struggling to wind down. The comfort provided by Pliny and Histor and a cavernous old JMC ship seems to do the trick.

Oddly, none of these deep dives has involved actually watching full episodes of these shows. Maybe this a twenty-first century phenomenon. For Adam & Joe, I’ve been watching clips (“when I go and see Villa / my view is blocked by a concrete pillar”) and reading this (“eight quid forty-five for half an hour of stupid craaap”). For Lee & Herring… actually, for them I have been watching full episodes albeit supported by a forum watch-along.

For Red Dwarf I’ve been reading and listening to small chunks of the first two novels (did anyone remember that the toaster kills the polymorph in the book version – I had forgotten this) and watching video essays like this one on YouTube. I also watched the Bodysnatcher stuff for the first time, which really tipped me over the edge. I hope Rob Grant manages to give his new book and TV series (if they ever happen) the quiet desolation I crave. No more wacky “Doug Dwarf” boner hijinks please, Rob.

With Samara’s help (well, she basically did all of it), I’ve also made this Red Dwarf-inspired jacket, which is a sure sign of crisis. What am I, some sort of “fan”? Urgh.

The website we bought the patches from has plenty of user reviews from young people saying they bought these patches “for father’s day.” I am old.

It’s not supposed to be screen accurate and it’s not for cosplay. It’s just a Listerish look to delight the other old men in the pub. On the show, his khaki jacket is normally worn over the shirt that has these patches. I still might get one of those London Jets tee-shirts though. We’ll see how long this crisis goes on for.

I wore the jacket to our Edinburgh WIP screening of Melt It! and you can see it in this pic, albeit before the shoulder patch went on:

You know what my jacket is? It’s not fandom. It’s historic re-enactment. I’ve been described as a comedy historian a couple of times recently (by Stewart Lee and Oliver Double no less) and I have at least written some books (and now a film) in comedy history so that’s fine by me. Professional nerdery is a thing now.