mostly david ephgrave

Tonight’s work-in-progress show felt like a world of difference to last night’s gig; people laughed and everything. Dare I say it, I enjoyed it. It’s the first time I’ve performed a sizeable chunk of what will eventually become my Brighton & Camden Fringe show ‘…and Ephgrave’ in one piece. Tonight’s response made me feel that I’m at least on the right track. Being in an intimate venue with a comedy savvy audience makes the world of difference. It helped me scale down my delivery, to make it more conversational. I didn’t have to fight for attention. I still need to find where the laughs are in the material, so I can sit back on it, but the fact that there were laughs has given me a confidence boost. It helps that I’m sharing the work-in-progress dates with the lovely Peter Broughton-Rates (I’m a poet…etc). He has an exceptional knack for positivity. As we left, I apologized for the fact I’d only had two people turn up to watch, when h

I enjoyed mine and Glyn’s set at tonight’s charity gig. I’ve always felt our material comes over best in an environment where we are just an act on the bill rather than the hosts. It gives what we do more impact. It’s also a lot less pressured. You’re not overseeing every aspect of the show around you. You’re not playing to a returning audience who've seen your best stuff before. You can rock up, do your thing and go, without having to run back on stage twenty minutes later to keep the momentum going. It’s also nice to share the stage with Glyn; to have him to bounce off of. This is probably accentuated by the fact I've spent so much time working on my solo stuff in recent weeks. I’m enjoying it, but it’s good to go back to the dynamic I know so well, and to not be solely responsible. My solo set was testing, but by that stage of the evening the audience’s attention was waning. Davinci (formerly Plinston) Hall is a tough room for comedy. Charity gigs are also a

Last Sunday, I survived the tense experience of shopping in ASDA with a pack of custard creams I’d bought from the same shop on Saturday secreted in my bag. I was carrying the biscuits due to poor forward planning. ASDA run a three-packs-for-a-pound deal* that I regularly take advantage of. Not because I’m addicted (though I am); more for the fact it enables me to keep one packet in the office and one at home, and have a spare pack left over for the commute. I didn’t do it for the buzz. I wasn’t playing chicken with supermarket security. I had no intention to attempt to shoplift in reverse. I was taking them to my office. This didn’t stop me feeling on edge. If they stopped me, I’d be unable to prove my innocence without going home for the receipt, and I wasn't sure they’d let me do that. I browsed Hitchin’s spindly arm of Walmart expecting a hand on my shoulder at any moment. I avoided the biscuit aisle entirely. Going there would be tempting fate. Thankfully, I e

I’d like to live in a world where my bag isn’t just big enough to fit the things I need to carry in it, provided I don’t want to take anything out at any point. It’s the ultimate status-lowerer. It’s intensely frustrating. Filling it is akin to a game of Tetris; there’s a very specific method to take, and Lord help you, should you attempt to deviate from it. As soon as I’ve slid my laptop in (I say ‘slid’; it’s more of a fifteen-stage force), there’s scarcely room for anything else. I then squeeze in my umbrella, knowing there’ll be no hope of extricating it quickly in the case of a sudden downpour. It would be easier getting it out if it was encased in concrete. (I exaggerate for borderline comedic effect). The simple answer to my problem would be to buy a new one. This relies on me having the funds to do it. I bought this one in a state of emergency and haven’t yet had the requisite cash to replace it. Such is the life of a professional actor / comedian / pauper.

I’ve been with my wife for ten years this month. This doesn’t seem possible. Has time flown by that quickly? It seems like only yesterday that we went out on our first date. If it wasn't yesterday, it was the day before at least. It can’t be a decade ago. I wasn’t alive then. Did somebody move Christ’s birthdate? While we’ve been in a relationship for ten years, we’ve been married for less than one. Our anniversaries in complete disarray. I don’t know how to chart them. Official documentation suggests we've been together seven months. Our eleventh anniversary will be Cotton or Tin, depending on how you look at it. If I analysed this too much, I’d never leave the house. However long it’s been, it's not been long enough. Meeting my wife was the best thing that happened to me. Making her my wife was the second best. That doesn’t mean she didn’t have a choice. (Feel free to reach for the sick bu

I’ve been at Doggett & Ephgrave HQ today, stitching together material for Saturday’swork-in-progress gig . The biggest challenge at the moment is to make it feel cohesive. Parts of it sit together nicely; others feel pretty cut-and-shut. If the material doesn’t flow, it could be irritating and tiring for the audience. They’ll be no natural resolution and no sense of an end in sight. I don’t want that. There’s a loose theme forming, centring on my relationship with my family, but not everything fits into it. I’m not too concerned if the links are a little haphazard on Saturday  – I’m using the gig to find out what works and what doesn’t – but it’s something I’ll need to smooth out before the Soho Theatre date in March. The audience for that will probably be a lot less patient, based on previous experience. That gig is a month away today. No pressure. To throw a spanner into proceedings, I started the day by discoveri

I’ve spent the last few hours putting together the latest episode of the More Than Mostly Podcast. It's one of my favourites. Arthur Smith and Jay Cowle were good, relaxed interviewees and the chat flows freely (sorry for channeling Alan Partridge). I enjoyed listening back to mine and Glyn’s banter too, which is surprisingly cohesive considering it was recorded at 2am. This episode was quick to edit. The last one was a bit of a faff, as it wasn’t recorded directly onto GarageBand (as Glyn’s laptop was giving up the ghost and mine was plumbed into the venue's PA to run our cues). Each audio clip had to be synched, which was a pain in the arse. I had to do the same with this month's too, though it was easier. The God of Editing was smiling on me. I went to the office this morning, to attempt to pin down a running order for next Saturday’s work-in-progress gig. I timed everything I’ve been working on, in whatever state it was in,

 My cat is sleeping on my lap as I write.  It's not particularly comfortable for me, but that's not the point. A cat shows little consideration for its owner's comfort. They only have their own interests at heart. It's not comfy, but it's comforting. It's a pleasant way to bring the evening in. It's nice to be writing at home. I spend a lot of time holed up in my office at the moment. I like having a place to work, but it gets repetitive. It pays to have a change of scenery now and again. I was in the office this morning. I sat through the video footage I have of recent gigs, to get a handle on what I should do at the work-in-progress date at the end of the week. I have more material than I thought, which is good. I now need to put it into an order that sits comfortably and then learn it. While I can afford to be informal at next Saturday's date, I'd like the Soho gig to have more rigidity. This will hopefully stand me in good stead for w

I think yesterday’s Mostly Comedy was the most I’ve been aware of people coming solely to see the headline act. It’s not like the audience were unfriendly. Far from it. They were nice. I just felt like a barrier between them and who they wanted. Either that, or our style wasn’t to their taste.    The club's ethos has changed a lot in seven years. There was a time when the majority of our acts were unknown. The audience had taken a punt. These days they’re enticed in by our headliner. Despite this, we don't usually bomb. There have been other shows when I expected it to be worse. Last September, we followed Stewart Lee. We were very aware that everyone was there for him. We expected people to leave after he’d finished, but most stayed. Not only that, they were quite responsive. Well, as much as you could hope from an audience who’d been blown away by one of the country’s top stand-ups. We felt like a welcome bonus. It didn’t help that last night I did ten min

This morning, a large spider revealed itself in my bedroom just long enough for me to reach for the designated spider glass, then disappeared. Jeopardy. I was looking in the mirror at the time, as is my wont when my wife's at work. Whole days are spent gazing at my reflection, usually to the soundtrack of Joe Cocker's You Are So Beautiful on loop. Everybody needs a hobby. I was styling my hair when it homed into view. The second I saw it, it froze. I've seen smaller fists. My two eyes met its eight and we sussed each other out. It was a Mexican standoff with two participants. By which I mean ‘a duel’. Without weapons. Shit analogy. I had to work quickly. I ran to the kitchen (where the glass is kept), picked up an old Doggett & Ephgrave flyer to slide under it, and ran back to find an arachnid-shaped hole where an arachnid once was. My eight-legged friend had vanished. This was not what I wanted. A huge creature was

Low-ranking performers like me don’t expect to look into an audience mid-show to see a banner like this. Whatever level you may be on the theatrical spectrum, you pray you'll never see this. What made it worse was they did . Chilling stuff. In September 2005, I took to the road for my first tour with the actor / musician show Buddy Holly and the Cricketers. It was a grueling affair: four months of one-nighters booked up and down the UK and Ireland with scant regard for geography, doing five or six shows a week. I was playing Buddy, which was exciting yet daunting, not least because I had to keep myself in vocal shape while spending most of my waking hours in the back of a van; not to mention all those lonely hours in the dead of the night, trying to get to sleep in another dodgy B&B. The last two shows were at The Brewhouse in Taunton on the 22 nd and 23 rd of December. This was a blessing and a curse: it was nice to end the run spending a coupl

I snapped up a short open spot at a new material night tonight. I very nearly didn’t go, as I wasn’t in the mood, but I’m glad that I did. I need to get used to turning up to gigs on my own. Until recently, I’ve never done this. The closest I came was playing the odd solo acoustic gig after my band spit up due to my then-constant touring. Even with that, I had an accomplice: my guitar. The banter in-between songs was loosely comedic, but this wasn’t the main focus. The music was the important bit. If I made the audience laugh that was a bonus. I made the gradual transition into comedy with Glyn by my side. I thrive on the connection we have creatively, and on being able to make each other laugh. We aim to please each other first. We’ve worked together in one way or another for so long that sharing a stage is like putting on a comfy pair of shoes. It’s easy to get back into a rhythm. Performing on my own is a different kettle of fish  (to us

I watched Paul McCartney’s performance of Maybe I’m Amazed on the Saturday Night Live 40th Anniversary Special today with my head in my hands. It made me want to cry, and not for the right reasons.  It’s no secret that I’m a big McCartney fan. His work ethic and output continues to inspire me. If you’ve only seen his unsurprisingly Beatle-heavy public appearances in recent years you wouldn’t know it, but he’s still a diverse and highly-creative artist. His albums over the last decade have been, for the most part, excellent. Check out 2005’s Nigel Godrich-produced Chaos and Creation in the Backyard , or 2008’s largely improvised ambient / electronica / psychedelic rock album Electric Arguments (made with producer and Killing-Joke-bassist Youth under the pseudonym The Fireman) for starters. If you haven’t time then read the reviews, which are mostly glowing. His live shows are great. He plays for nearly three hours without pausing for a sip of water. I&

I’ve decided to pull the shutter down on writing any new stand-up material for two weeks. This will help me to focus on getting to grips with what I’ve already got. Three deadlines are scorched into my brain: the first work-in-progress gig on 28 th February, the Comedy Project date at the Soho Theatre on 23 rd March and my first Brighton Fringe show on 8 th May. The middle one is the most ominous. I’ve always found Soho Upstairs difficult to play. I’ve never performed solo there before, but have been in countless sitcom readings, plays and sketch screenings with Glyn in the past. It’s wide and sound doesn’t travel well. A panel of industry people will also be watching, who give feedback afterwards in front of the audience. This adds extra fun to proceedings. As a result, I’ve been frantically trying to get new stuff down to give myself a head start. Quite a bit of material has either been tried out once or twice or never tried at all. By stoppin

I caught the train to London today to check a projector’s HDMI connection. Happy Valentine’s Day to me. The projector in question was at The Actors’ Temple; the venue where I’m sharing a handful of work-in-progress dates with Peter Broughton-Rates over the next few months. Using HDMI is new to me – Doggett & Ephgrave use VGA – so I had good reason to go into town for a mundane purpose. (Stop me if I'm being dull.) As is often the case with these things, my time in the room was rushed. I was meant to have half an hour to fiddle with the set up. This didn’t happen. I arrived to hear the strains of the film Taxi Driver coming from the studio. De Niro didn’t talk to his reflection for a good fifteen minutes into my proposed thirty-minute slot. If there had to be a bloodbath, why couldn’t he pick up the pace? Thankfully the guy taking the classes my visit was squeezed between was very helpful. The fact he was Martin from EastEnders was something for my own silent

I like to join in with the odd Twitter hashtag game from time to time. It’s a good way to distract yourself from whatever you should be doing. Why work when you can spend the time coming up with dodgy puns? It’s the closest I’ll get to writing headlines for The Sun, which is probably for the best. It’s not clever, yet it’s satisfying. You could apply that to both. The game I enjoyed the most was #6WordFilmPlots. It appealed to my obsession with conciseness. It’s something I aspire to. Sometimes I’m good at it, sometimes I’m not. I enjoyed the concept so much, I saved my Tweets to remember them. Here are a few: ·       Man-child plays giant piano with feet. #6wordfilmplots ·       Italian-American cabbie shows dissatisfaction with job. #6wordfilmplots ·       Phallic-named whale escapes Sealife Centre. #6wordfilmplots ·       Special needs man sits on bench. #6wordfilmplots ·       Hairy dad disguised as Scottish nanny.