How Parkinson’s disease sent me from Vicar of Dibley to Dribbly

UNIVERSITY Challenge host Jeremy Paxman has been in touch with top comedy writer and producer Paul Mayhew-Archer, MBE, after revealing that he has Parkinson’s disease.

Paul, 68, who used to be a co-writer for The Vicar Of Dibley and script-edited a string of other hit sitcoms, was diagnosed with the condition a decade ago, and he has used humour to raise awareness of Parkinson’s.

He made a documentary, Parkinson’s: The Funny Side, and has toured a stand-up comedy routine since 2017 about the condition.

Former Newsnight presenter Jeremy, 71, revealed last week that he has mild symptoms.

He has pledged to continue his BBC work “for as long as they’ll have me”.

Here Paul, whose comedy drama But When We Dance – about two people with Parkinson’s – is due to be filmed for BBC One next year, writes about the condition for The Sun.

Paul Mayhew-Archer

I WAS diagnosed by a friend.

I happened to mention how one of my arms didn’t swing when I walked and how my handwriting was getting smaller and smaller.

He said: “I don’t want to worry you, Paul, but you might have Parkinson’s.”

What he’d have said if he HAD wanted to worry me I don’t know.

A neurologist later confirmed the news and said he had spotted another tell-tale sign: “Your facial muscles are somewhat frozen. For instance, you seem to be finding it quite hard to smile.”

I replied: “That could be because you’ve just told me I have Parkinson’s.”

It’s not easy to diagnose Parkinson’s in the early stages because it has more than 40 symptoms, and there are some big misunderstandings.

Many GPs think you can’t have Parkinson’s if you don’t have a tremor, but a third of us don’t shake at all.

VIAGRA FREE ON NHS

Meanwhile, Jeremy Paxman first realised he might have it when he found he was typing gibberish into his computer, whereas I find half a lager has much the same result.

So here’s a bit of a list of symptoms.

If you’ve got a combination of these then maybe that’s a sign there might be something wrong.

You’re walking more slowly and unsteadily, you’ve started falling over, you’re constipated, you’ve lost your sense of smell, you’re losing your memory, you sometimes dribble uncontrollably (which reminds me, I used to co-write The Vicar Of Dibley, so if I ever write my autobiography I can call it From Dibley To Dribbly).

But back to the symptoms.

You are experiencing stiffness in the arms and legs, your legs suddenly “freeze” so you’re unable to move, your fingers are fumbly, your voice is becoming quieter, you’re getting erectile dysfunction and you’re feeling depressed. (Hardly surprising, given the circumstances).

Actually, it’s not all bad.

My constipation is such that I regard the loss of my sense of smell as a positive benefit

The erectile dysfunction is cruel — since I get stiffness in both my arms and my legs you’d think I could get it in the one place I might occasionally need it — but it means I can get Viagra free on the NHS.

What’s more, it’s perfectly safe to take a Viagra tablet, until of course the memory loss sets in.

Finally there’s the ever-quieter voice which, combined with the fact that my wife Julie is hard of hearing, means we have some hilarious conversations.

In fact, one was about Jeremy Paxman.

He and I have been chatting via email and Julie came in as I was writing to him.

Julie: “What are you up to?”

Me: “I’m emailing Jeremy Paxman. I’m not sure how to start.”

Julie: “What do you mean?”

Me: “He signed his last email Paxo. I’m wondering if I should start ‘Dear

Paxo’. What do you think?”

Julie: “I wouldn’t.”

Me: “Wouldn’t you?”

Julie: “Seems a bit too familiar.”

Me: “Oh right. I won’t then.”
(Pause)

Julie: “Why does he call himself Fatso?”

It’s important to find ways of managing the illness, and one of those ways is to take lots of exercise.

I’m 68 and, amazingly, for the past eight years I’ve been doing ballet.

I’m utterly rubbish at it, I can’t even tell my right from my left, but I love it.

The other way I manage my Parkinson’s is by laughing at the absurdity of it all.

I recently took part in a meeting about Parkinson’s via Zoom and at the end the organiser asked if anyone had a question.

My arm shot up.

I didn’t actually have a question, it was a Parkinson’s twitch, but he said: “Yes. Paul. You have a question.”

I couldn’t think of a question so I explained that I didn’t have a question and I apologised for wasting everyone’s time, and the organiser said: “Sorry Paul, we can’t hear you. You’ll need to unmute yourself, then ask your question.”

Well now I did have a question, which was: “How do I unmute myself?” But I couldn’t ask how to unmute myself because — well — I couldn’t unmute myself.

And while I was wondering what to do, someone shouted out: “Type your question, Paul, then you can send it.”

So I typed the question, “How do I unmute myself?”, then realised I didn’t know how to send what I’d typed. And I couldn’t ask how to send what I’d typed because I couldn’t unmute myself.

Then I had the brilliant idea that I should write my question and hold it up in front of me, but of course, one of my Parkinson’s symptoms is tiny hand-writing, and my writing is so tiny even I can’t read it.

Then someone said: “Sorry, Paul, your screen’s frozen,” so I pressed the leave button.

That was the moment I realised this wasn’t just a Zoom call.

This was a foretaste of Parkinson’s in its final stage, when no one can hear what you’re saying or read what you’re writing and you’re suddenly frozen and unable to move but there’s no leave button you can easily push.

So while I do have a voice I just want to say thank you to all the researchers and charity workers at Parkinson’s UK and Cure Parkinson’s and ask them in the nicest possible way to find an effing cure.

They are all terrific people, apart perhaps from the charity worker who said to me: “We want to involve you in lots of fundraising, Paul. We want to get the most out of you while we still can.”

I also want to thank all the families and friends of people with Parkinson’s for coping with our weirdnesses, and I want to urge all my fellow Parkies to stay active for as long as possible and join one of the 350 local groups dotted round the country.

And finally, I want to say to Jeremy Paxman: “Dear Fatso. Welcome.”