Hello and welcome to the sixth and final DOAH. This month I finally pack up my bag of tricks, lotions and potions, cease to impinge on your patience, and stagger off into the snow to get run down by a passing road gritter. But don't you worry yourselves about that! It's been an honour and a privilege to scratch for you. I'm just sorry about all that dead skin on the carpet.

Final proof that my eczema has a better grasp of narrative tension than me: last month I promised you clear skin - and I got it. With ONE DAY to spare. This time last week I was in bed with a skin infection so disgusting I contemplated sending myself a text message explaining that I was a really nice guy but things just weren't working out. My face was swollen, yellow and leaking. I nearly took some photos but then I wept myself unconscious and forgot.

Granted, I'm exaggerating - but I honestly did want to take photos. I know that most of you would take one blurred snapshot of my crusty skin over an entire acre of worthy blogs about being healthy, or twelve pages of the most in-depth Gaza coverage. Don't worry - there's nothing wrong with that. I spend most of my internet downtime browsing sick pictures of other people too.

Luckily, my local doctors' surgery is only a short face-hiding shamble away. The antibiotics I was prescribed solved the issue of my inflated, suppurating head pretty quickly and also - quite brilliantly - reduced the symptoms all over my body at the same time. On my hands and arms, trunk, neck and legs, the redness is retreating, to be replaced by the blemish-free, translucent paleness of someone who doesn't see enough daylight.

This could be momentous. Is it possible that all along I've been the victim of skin bacteria, destroying my solemn attempts not to scratch with a few tickle sticks? Well, I'll find out next month! You won't.

So that's it then. As you can see, this ending isn't really an ending at all. It's a clever postmodern non-end in which things just kind of go on. Eczema is evidently a bit of a flash bastard (and calling it names makes me feel good). There'll never be a denouement to this condition, only cycles of bad and better and worse.

Eczema is a chronic illness, not a serious one: its power to hurt you lies in its persistence and longevity rather than in its severity. If you can accept that it will always be there, treating it becomes just another complication; something to manage to do - like eating well, exercising regularly and working for money - alongside what you consider to be meaningful in life, such as writing a book or falling in love. And then it's not so bad.

The way I see it, this column has morphed from a log of my experiments with homeopathy to an account of my struggles with a condition, and in doing so has discovered its true purpose. If you have eczema and this column has made you feel less abnormal or isolated then that's great: a 10-scratch salute goes out to you. And if it has allowed anyone without a skin condition to feel a bit more grateful for that fact then I think that's just as good. In a way.

This month's verdict: 'Eczema'
(To the music of My Way by Frank Sinatra)

And now, my face is clear
and so I chase the final deadline.
My friends, as I write this here,
I place that face upon the breadline.

I promised you all good skin,
Without any special effects. Ah!
But you're red - from scalp to chin - when you've got eczema.

No pets, can't have a brew,
Can't have a bath without it peeling.
The flowers wouldn't do,
I put my foot down at faith-healing.

These pills, they do the trick.
I'll put my faith in them next, ja?
The solution's never quick when you've got eczema.

For what is your skin? A shoddy sack.
It's full of holes both front and back.

What is this world? Who wrote its laws?
Why can't one bleed and win applause?

That's it! I know!
A travelling show!
As the Marvellous Mr Eczema.

Whew. I'm glad that's sorted - I was starting to worry about where to go from here career-wise. Bollywood is right: you can always rely on an impromptu song to show you the way forward.

But enough silliness! I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading the Diary. Happy scratching.