mostly david ephgrave

Today has been a day of bits and pieces. It started with me popping to a friend’s flat to feed her cats: something I’m doing for the next week, in my occasional guise as a cat-sitter. I then power-walked to the office with a mic-stand in tow (which has been sitting in my flat since last Saturday’s aborted preview), before sprinting for a bus to the station to catch the train into London for a casting; my life's always this thrilling. The audition was my first one for the best part of a month: for some reason, they've just not been coming in. In some senses this is good, as it’s given me time to think about my show, but I’m always uneasy when there’s no immediate prospect of paid work (a reasonable thing to be uneasy about). I think the casting went well. I enjoyed it. I generally do; it’s an environment I feel comfortable in. It was as random as ever; in many ways, it was more random than most: I had to perform in just a towel and a baseball cap. It’s a times lik...

If anyone witnessed me buying flip-flops and a baseball cap in Poundland this morning: THEY WERE FOR A CASTING. It may surprise you to learn I have neither item in my wardrobe. Then again, it may not. I’m not a flip-flop-and-baseball-cap kind of person. It isn’t a look I can pull off, without resembling a cross between a William Hague-style photo opportunity and a cry for help: little difference there then. I wasn’t sure where to buy them from, as they're not really in my remit. I didn’t want to pay a lot when I’d only wear them once. The only time I’d pull out this tasteless head-and-footwear combo again would be if I got a recall, which wasn’t definite. My initial attempts to find them weren’t fruitful: a quick Google of ‘cheap flip flops Hitchin’ brought up a pair in Shoe Zone for £14.99, which was more than I was willing to spend – and ‘flops’ kept being unhelpfully corrected to ‘floss’ by the search bar on Wilko's website. While internet shopping is invalua...

I suspect the woman on the train wasn’t as interested in the subject of flame-retardant materials as the man sitting next to her thought she was. ‎ This didn’t stop him ploughing on. It’s surprising how long someone can talk about non-combustible insulation without pausing for breath; in this instance, the duration of a train journey from King’s Cross to Hitchin, taking the slowest route. We’re talking forty-five minutes – or  he  was, more like. ‎ That doesn’t take into account when we were held at a signal (the red light being a sign for the driver and not for  him ). It seems Mr Asbestos was hell-bent on filling every inch of available airspace with fire-resistant drivel; completely oblivious to ‎ the monosyllabic interjections from his disinterested companion. ‎ (I've swallowed a dictionary.) ‎ That woman showed patience. It was probably imagining dousing him in petrol and setting him alight that got her through it. It certainly helped me.

I caught myself singing along to Rock DJ today. It's official: I’ve changed. As far as I'm concerned, Rock DJ is the nadir of popular music. It’s as bad as it gets. Yet there I was, joining in with it: happy as Larry, smug as Robbie. The voice of a man whose face alone is enough to evoke fury had seeped into my subconscious. The song had finally worn me down, fifteen years after its release. It had become an involuntary expression of inner happiness; something to hum as I jollily went about my business. That’s how they you: they break you over time. I  was in ASDA, in my defense: a soulless, vapid place where dross like Robbie Williams’ back catalogue seems like a positive release. Even bearing this in mind, there was no excuse. It was a lapse in judgement. If I were Catholic, I’d be in my nearest confessional, begging for forgiveness. At least it proves I'm fallible. The internal radio station of a monster supermarket had ensnared me against my will. I ’ll do my shop...

Glyn and I did a charity gig at The Good Ship in Kilburn tonight in aid of deafblind charity, Sense. It was organised and MCed by a friend of ours, Katie Pritchard, who also took part in the Marathon for the charity. Today. She ran twenty-six miles AND hosted a comedy gig on the same day. Comparatively, I've done nothing.  Despite being less active, I still felt exhausted; as did Glyn. I haven't caught up from Thursday yet, and the faff of going in and out of London for yesterday's no-show didn't help. Before the gig, I felt like I was being held together by surface tension alone; seldom the precursor to a great performance.  Though neither of us were 100% on form, we enjoyed it. It helped that there was a good audio-visual set up at the venue, which meant we didn't have to use our equipment. We'd carried it there, of course, but such is life. It made for an easier pack-up.‎ Before the gig, we went for a meal in an Italian restaurant opposite the...

We cancelled tonight's double-headed preview, on account of the fact that no-one turned up.  That's not strictly true. One person turned up. Even that isn't accurate. Two people came: one who'd seen the show before and one who hadn't - and we decided, on balance, that this would make the show more uncomfortable than it would have been useful. It's conceivable to do a play to an audience you can count on one finger - I've had the dubious pleasure of doing this in the past - but not stand-up. There's only so much one-on-one (or one-on-two) eye contact that anyone (or two) can take. (Still with me?) It was frustrating to have to pull it (cue a Carry On-style sound effect). It was set to be my last preview before my Brighton run, and I had a couple of untested bits of material to try out. I'm not far off the required running time, but the show needs fine-tuning - and I'd craved the reassurance of having all my set-pieces aired before my f...

Today, I’m feeling my standard post-Mostly exhaustion. It’s largely my own fault. While it takes time to pack up and then record the links for the podcast, and the show didn’t finish until gone 11:30pm, we tend to spend longer than we should chatting about how it went. It’s a chance to catch up. It’s also nice to have a bit of a wind down, rather than going home to silence. The downside of the late finish is it impacts on the following day. I went to our office this morning to run some new material for tomorrow’s preview. I wasn’t at my best. I got done what I needed to, but didn’t get it as tight as I’d like. My capacity for concentration was nil. Even now, as I write this, I feel like I’m falling asleep, which as good a reason to call it quits. I plan to have a quiet evening in with my wife and the cat, with no further thoughts of work. I have the preview tomorrow and a gig with Glyn on Sunday, so tonight’s the only night in this weekend....

Tonight’s preview at Hitchin Mostly Comedy was both useful and enjoyable for me. Phil Nichol, Barry From Watford and a poor man's Statue of Liberty. Before I started, I was aware that I would essentially be acting as a physical barrier between the audience and the two acts they’d most likely come to see: Phil Nichol and Barry From Watford. I needn’t have worried. The crowd were lovely, and very receptive despite this. I did forty minutes, which is the longest I’ve performed solo at my own club by a long chalk. I’m still learning where the laughs are and how to pitch it, but am pleased with how it’s coming together. It still needs a little polish and topping-and-tailing to make it a show, but there’s time for that. I’m looking forward to the Brighton run, as the intimate nature of the venue will suit the material and allow me to sit back on it. It will be fun, I’m sure of that. Both Barry From Watford and Phil Nichol played a blinder. B...

There’s something unsavoury about borrowing FHM from the library. Not that I've ever done this, but if I wanted to, I could. I rejoined my local library last weekend, after a twenty-year hiatus – and on doing so, I spotted For Him Magazine on a spinny stand by the doorway (presumably positioned there to aid a fast exit). It’s not the sort of thing I expected to be stocked, which goes to show how much libraries have changed since I was a kid. I can’t imagine who'd want to take it out. FHM isn’t exactly high literature, other than where you might expect to see it in an uptight newsagent's. It’s barely reading matter. If you’d sooner borrow a much-thumbed copy than pay £3.99 for an issue of your own, you’re as tight as you are brave. I couldn't face a librarian’s judgement. The reason for my extended bibliothèque break was fear. The last time I tried to draw something out, I was accused of having kept hold of a book for months that I swore I'd never had...

I've spent the evening writing a blog, which I've decided to abort at the last minute. It wasn't coming out how I'd have liked. This illustrates perfectly what I said in yesterday's blog about acting on an idea quickly. While the essence of what I'd written had potential, I didn't attack it at the right moment. Consequently, it sounded forced. As it is, I've decided to leave it to another day; I may find a new way in on looking at it with fresh eyes.  My day's been productive, abandoned blogs aside. I emailed the acts for Thursday's Mostly, tinkered with some new material (edging it slightly closer to the finish line) and ran my set for Thursday. At this precise moment, I'm acting as a bed for my cat. However little or much I've accomplished today, at least I know I've achieved more than her. All she's done is sleep, eat, sleep, eat, shit, sleep and eat. That said, she's probably got the balance right. ‎‎

I had a little burst of inspiration this morning about how to get into my set at Thursday’s Mostly Comedy. I have a habit of changing how I want to start a set right up to the last minute. I’ll often whisper an idea for an opening line into Glyn’s ear, just before we take the stage. It must be frustrating way to work, but he’s very patient about it. When we’re putting a show together, we’ll joke that we’ve got fifteen different ways to start it and nothing else. It’s a question of energy. When I’m excited by idea, I’m enthused about getting it across. It adds fire to the belly. It gives me a little kick that sees me through. Doggett & Ephgrave have recently got into the habit of starting Mostly Comedy with three ‘questions’; basically an excuse to show and then discuss three slides that amuse us. There’s nothing new to the premise - they’ve done it at the top of Have I Got News For You for twenty-five years - but it’s a good way in. We'll usually write this on the ...

Open mic comedy gigs are great if you like performing mostly to silence.  Maybe it's just me. I don't think it is. They're so strung out. This is due to the amount of acts on the bill. It couldn't really be done another way - the point of an open mic gig is to give lots of performers a chance, with most acts doing a very short set, and for some it's their first time on stage - but you don't get a fair reading of material when the audience are exhausted from so much information, or it's entirely made up of other acts who are too busy thinking about their own sets. ‎ I don't want to sound like I'm talking the clubs I've played down. They've been lovely for the most part. I'm very grateful for the opportunity and for the stage time they give. As a promoter myself, I know organising the line-ups must be no mean feet. It's just not the forum for me. I prefer to be on at a shorter, more structured night, with fewer acts, and an audi...

These days, the Now! series isn't even trying. When it comes to choosing compilation album content, that title doesn’t whittle things down. Anything with a basic verse / chorus structure and a running time of around two to six minutes falls under its criterion. It’s not a sign of quality. It also gives you no inkling as to what you’ll get. You could wind up with UB40’s Red Red Wine* recurring fifty-seven times, and no-one wants that. (...except for Neil Diamond, who’d be quids-in.) The franchise lost their way years ago. They’ve released 89 of their standard collections, plus a whole host of variants, from 'Now That’s What I Call Running' to 'Now That’s What I Call Drive'. That last one doesn’t even work. To whom does the personal pronoun in each title refer anyway? Is it Mark Goodier, or that pig on the early front covers? Answers on a postcard, marked Now That’s What I Call Bullshit.  *The most recent number one ...

I ordered the posters and flyers for my Brighton show today. It’s official: it’s happening. Flyer front (proof) Flyer back (proof) Poster (proof) They were designed - rather splendidly - by my comedy wife, Glyn. He did a great job. They make the show look like a real thing. Now, there’s just the small matter of finishing writing it. The great thing is that most of the admin is now done. The press releases have been sent and the artwork is winging its way to the venue. I can now switch my attention fully to the material. I did a dry run of what I intend to do at Thursday's Mostly Comedy , which sat together nicely, and ran at about thirty-five minutes. This is more than enough for that environment. It’s also without an audience reaction, which will double the length. A mass boo can stretch a show’s duration immensely. I plan to squeeze a few extra bits into Saturday’s Work in (Hope of) Progress date, which should take the running time up to...

A couple rode past me on a tandem this morning. My life is a 1970s sitcom. It's not the sort of vehicle you expect to see in real life. I can't understand the benefit. What do you gain from restricting two cyclists to one bike? According to Wikipedia, a tandem has double the pedalling power of a conventional bicycle, without the potential to double the speed. This is a shame, as you'd want to get away from people twice as fast, after being on the receiving end of four times the usual abuse. You have to be certain sort to ride one: either a Last of the Summer Wine cast member, or a Goodie. I suspect that Terry and June had one too. Or a 'one-two', depending on how you look on it. You need big balls to pull one off. Either that, or to be a massive penis. At least you'd save money on bike locks. You could probably dispense with chaining it up all together. No self-respecting person would want to steal a tandem - and if they did, they'd need an accomplice. I...

I'm currently on my way back from an open mic gig near Spitalfields Market.  I managed to exorcise the demons of my last spot on a new material night. I didn't have a good experience that night. It didn't help that there were no lights on stage, meaning the audience were better lit than the acts. The MC, while being funny, was very downbeat, so the show lost momentum. All of this conspired to throw me and I lost my way with my new material. When you're only doing five minutes, it's hard to claw things back.  Tonight wasn't like this. It's one of the nicest open mic gigs I've played; tightly run, with a great host. I didn't get huge laughs - it's hard to when you're playing to a room of other comics who are more concerned with their own stuff - but I got across everything I wanted. The newest bit of all, which hadn't been tried before, got the best response of the bunch, so that's good. I also used my Caffè Nero loyalty card to...

When I saw this on my Twitter feed, I misread ‘overnight’ as ‘overweight’. Bizarrely, both options are appropriate: the former in reference to his pre-army days and the latter to the end of his career. There’s a sense of full circle to my mistake. It’s nearly palindromic…don’t you think?     (I’m channelling Alanis Morrisette because I’m down with the kids. Of 1996.)   The shock of the King’s downfall hasn’t softened, though he died thirty-seven years ago. It happened so fast. With so much pressure aimed on one person it was unavoidable. George Harrison used to say the fact there were four Beatles kept them sane. If one got too big for their boots, the others could keep him in check. Elvis didn’t have this luxury. He was the only man at the centre of the hurricane. That’s a metaphor, by the way. This isn't the only time my eyes have misled me. I misread the title of this book when I first saw it. I was very disappointed.

I spent most of the day writing and sending out press releases for my Brighton Fringe show. I’m pleased to say I got everything done that I wanted to. It's satisfying to set yourself a task and then complete it. Part of the problem with having no outside help is your attention is split. You're constantly changing hats, in a metaphorical sense; one minute you’re the writer and then the next you’re the producer. The minute after that you’re the technician and then you’re the performer. That’s four minutes’ worth of show prep and I’m not prepared to do it. It’s also makes for a clunky paragraph. The next step will be to prepare for next Thursday’s preview at Hitchin Mostly Comedy . I intend to sprinkle a few new bits into last month’s Soho Theatre set, bringing the running time up to about forty minutes. I don’t want to cross that time limit; if anything, I may do less. I’m very aware that I’ll be a physical barrier between the audience and the two acts they've c...

I couldn’t order a hot drink at my local pub restaurant tonight because there was “a twenty-five minute wait on tea”. I’d suggest they need to buy a new kettle. Either that, or keep it closer to the bar. The only time I’d expect this delay would be if they handpick their leaves from a plantation with a ten-minute commute. The time frame was very specific. Not twenty minutes, or thirty, but twenty-five. This suggests past-history, or an antiquated tea-making procedure. Do they wait for the water to heat naturally? Do they warm it over a flint-lit fire? Do they have a travel kettle? If it takes them this long to make tea, imagine the wait for food. The pub is five minutes’ walk from my flat. I could have forward-rolled home, made tea, drunk it and backward-rolled back with time to spare. This is a challenge I’d be willing to accept.

Would it have been wrong of me to correct someone on their misinterpretation of the lyrics to Kula Shaker's Govinda today?  I didn't do it in the end, which took all of my strength. I was working in the office at the time, when the culprit walked past, getting Britpop very wrong. Admittedly it's a hard song to get right, but singing 'Govinda Jaya Jaya' repeatedly doesn't cut it; you need to slip a 'Gopala Jaya Jaya' in at least.  He didn't know a Kula Shaker fan was in earshot, to be fair. We're few and far between. I thought their debut album was excellent, as was their version of the Deep Purple song Hush. I bought their lesser-known single Sound of Drums, and saw them play a blinder at Cambridge Corn Exchange, without a swastika in sight.  My old band supported them once in Bedford. Crispian Mills watched our set from the side of the stage, whilst wearing a stormtrooper helmet. He may have been a great guitarist, but he was a bit of a di...

I think the concept of National Siblings Day is clutching at straws.  This could be because I haven’t got a brother or sister. “Ich bin ein Einzelkind”, as my German doppelgänger would say. While I have no siblings, I can imagine what it would be like. I’d cherish it, despite the frequent frustration it would bring. Either way, I wouldn’t need to tell the world about it. I wouldn’t need a public holiday or a Twitter trend to express it. Our mutual respect could be kept between ourselves. (...assuming we were of similar mindset.) Siblings aren't an endangered species. We don’t need to fight for their rights. Before you know it, there'll be an In-laws Day. Scrap that, there already is: Do we have to turn everything outward? You’re no better a relation for showing your relationship off. Life isn’t a press release; it’s what happens behind closed doors that counts (unless you’re feral). I blame Facebook. It’s turned life into a competition – and on...

Today, I briefly forgot my own birthdate. I was arranging a meeting with a friend, trying to find a time that was good for both of us. We threw a few options back and forth as we flicked through our diaries, nearly reaching a stalemate. In a last-ditch attempt to resolve the issue, she suggested the fourteenth of May. It was only on checking my phone’s calendar that I realised it was of significance.  THIS IS THE BEGINNING OF THE END. At least it had come up out of context. Its personal import wasn’t at the forefront of my mind. It’s still a concern; if there’s one 365 th of the average Earth’s orbit I’d expect to be ingrained on my memory it’s this. I shouldn’t need a device to remind me. Isn’t this the sort of thing you’re meant to look out for? I hope it’s not a sign of decline. It’s more likely a result of tiredness: my brain has been fried by writing. Whatever the reason, I may invest in a Dymo Labeller. I’ll also buy a ...

I met with Glyn this evening to discuss the weekly radio show we'll be starting for the local station SG1 Radio at the end of May.  I'm looking forward to getting going with it. ‎It will be a great chance for us to toy with the off-the-cuff banter we do on our video diaries and our podcast. It's the side to us that I enjoy the most. ‎We've always wanted to host our own show. We're now lucky enough to have the opportunity to do it, in a low-key way that should have little impact on our varying schedules (it can sometimes be hard to get us both in the same room).  ‎I'll be sharing more details about it here in the coming weeks, so keep your eyes peeled. One snippet I can reveal is the title, which is ‎'Doggett & Ephgrave: In Your Inner Ear'. It's best said out loud for full impact. Don't attempt this after heavy dental work. ‎

I'm currently sitting in the graveyard near my flat, enjoying the birdsong.  I needed a break from the office. While I like it there, it can be stagnating. I've spent the day tinkering with material, but found it difficult to concentrate.  I couldn't decide which bit to work on. There's also only so much being in a room that's barely bigger than my own volume that I can take.  I used to visit this cemetery more often, but not lately. It's a good place to think. There's nothing quite like being surrounded by scores of the long-dead to give a sense of perspective. It's also very pretty, with lots of animal-and-birdlife to spot. I saw a pair of green woodpeckers here once or twice, which was exciting; I'm easily pleased.  I posed for my actor's headshot here, whilst sitting on the selfsame bench. My wife took the photo, as she's a dab hand with the camera. She's also very cheap. She did it in return for a fish-and-chip-dinner, wh...

Writing is mostly about avoiding writing. Every time I go into the office it’s the same. I’ll check my emails, Twitter, the sales for Mostly Comedy, my bank balance, the stat-counter on mine and Glyn's website, the Paul McCartney forum and then Twitter again, before I consider putting pen to paper (in an electronical, computer-typery sense). I’d repeat this cycle ad infinitum if I could get away with it.  If there’s anything I can distract myself with, I’ll leap at it like a man possessed. The closer the deadline, the longer it takes me to get to work. It’s not the most helpful approach.   Not every diversion is self-inflicted. There’s often admin to wade through first. I’ve also not taken into account the many hours spent trying to connect to BT Openzone. You don’t get that time back; something I'm looking forward to mulling over on my deathbed.   I may not be giving myself due credit. I’ve managed to keep this ...