Only joking. It’s good for morale!

When Stephanie and I planned our lineup for our fifth season back in December, we had no idea what 2020 had in store. We were blissfully unaware that a deadly new virus would soon claim hundreds of thousands of lives worldwide and effectively bring the entire US to a screeching halt (I’m listing those in descending order of importance). We couldn’t possibly know that we would be isolating ourselves for three months (and counting), and we certainly couldn’t know that the beginning of our strange new reality would coincide with our watching the simultaneously bleak and hilarious, claustrophobic and outlandish, existential and fart-saturated Bottom. (Much more grimly, since recording this episode, new issues—or rather, renewed outrage over extremely old issues—make the Bottom series finale, in which our two heroes are machine-gunned to death by police in their own home, play very differently now than it did two months ago.)

And when I decided that I was far along enough in the editing process for us to start releasing our season three weeks ago, only after looking at the calendar did I realize that, by sheer coincidence, the release of our Bottom episode would fall on the anniversary of Rik Mayall’s untimely death.

So much has been said about the beloved, legendary comedian—so many articulate tributes and hilarious video compilations have been composed in his tragic absence—that adding my two cents feels indulgent, especially NOW, when America faces multiple public health crises—COVID-19, brutal systemic racism, unfettered access to guns, a literal fascist in the White House sowing chaos and fanning the flames of hate—that are robbing non-famous people of their lives by the thousands. He left us far too soon, but then, so have many other people in the last six years, and unlike them, he had a lot of money, a lot of privilege, a platform, and, by all accounts, a pretty incredible life. The man has been mourned sufficiently.

 But damn it, we love Rik. And if you’re reading this, chances are you do, too.

 The first season of Anglophilia is especially close to my heart, because (apart from our Python season) it was the only season where Stephanie and I had already seen every show, years before revisiting them for the podcast. Rewatching all those classic comedies from beginning to end for the first time since childhood was an unparalleled joy, but for me, the greatest (re)discovery of that season was The Young Ones. While some of the idiotic antics of the Scumbag College crew had left indelible marks on my teenage brain (boom shanka), about 90% of the series came as a delightful surprise. I was obsessed. In addition to tracking down the DVDs on eBay, I bought posters

a sweatshirt to show my school spirit

and a copy of the world’s funniest-titled autobiography.

I rewatched my favorite episodes over and over and tracked down other more obscure clips and performances on YouTube. “Living Doll” became my own personal “Song of the Summer” for 2018.

My love for this singular work of television expanded into a love for its creator/star, and with my renewed fervor came a renewed sadness: I started to mourn Rik really hard. I was only starting to discover his amazing body of work and appreciate his truly unique brand of comedy and magnetic onscreen presence. Even now, at least once a week I think, how unfair it is that Rik is gone, while [insert name of politician deserving my eternal wrath] lives.

But, as Stephanie pointed out while I was working through my very delayed grief (thanks Steff), “it’s not the years in your life, but the life in your years,” and boy did that guy cram a lot of life into his 56 years. He made so many people happy, and the work he has left behind continues to do so. He’s made me laugh harder in quarantine than almost any living person has.

In many ways, working on Anglophilia over the last two-and-a-half years has felt like a distraction, which is both good and bad. It can be difficult to strike a balance between preserving one’s mental health and just sticking one’s head in the sand. But for the last three months, it’s been a lifeboat for me. Diving into these goofy television shows and talking and laughing about them with Stephanie has allowed me to preserve my sanity. I realize that what we do is not important—it’s fluff—and that escapism is a privilege. But I also know that it’s important for us all to take moments of joy wherever we can find them. I’ve said it before: laughter may not really be the best medicine, but it’s my anesthetic of choice. It numbs the pain just enough to help me get through whatever it is I need to get through. And in the immortal words of the (literally immortal?) Eddie Hitler, it’s good for morale.

Sometimes life is downright terrible. Sometimes your mortal frenemy sets your crotch on fire.

But things get better.

Not on their own, not “like a miracle,” but through actions, big and small. Through being kind to one another, sticking it to the man, and farting in the face of tyranny.

Take heart, fellow Anglophiles. None of this is forever. And thank you, Mr. Rik Mayall, for all the much-needed laughs.