mostly david ephgrave

I knuckled down on my show today, in preparation for next week's two-night run in Camden.  I started by doing a staggered run-through, to allow time for the stories to settle and for me to connect with the material again. It's easy to disassociate yourself from what you're saying, particularly when there's no-one to say it to; if you run the material too often in this way, you get used to saying it quickly, and end up doing the same thing in front of an audience. I have a habit of disconnecting, particularly when I've been doing something for a while, so I want to keep this in check. It's frustrating having to work without an outside eye. I had discussed the possibility of a friend directing it for me, who'd been present at all of my Brighton shows and gave excellent feedback, but this didn't happen. It's a shame, as he was the right person for the job, with an opinion I trust. I'm fully aware that working without a director isn't the...

It’s not often you find out your flat’s up for sale when your mum spots it in the local paper. I’m exaggerating slightly. My home isn’t actually on the market, or at least, not as far as I’m aware – though this small, niggling detail didn't prevent a picture of it from appearing in last week’s Comet, to illustrate a property of identical specifications that’s in the same block. Apparently, mine was the more photogenic of the two. Who am I to argue? After all, I live in it. Thank God I wasn’t doing anything inappropriate in the front window. (...not that I ever do.) It’s a bizarre mistake for the estate agent to make. It’s not just a picture of the front of my property that’s in the paper, but the side and the back as well. You'd only need a shot from above to build up a three-dimensional composite image.   If they’d knocked on the door to ask me, if I could have stood next to the building to give a sense of scale. I guess t...

Last night, we prerecorded the next 'Doggett & Ephgrave: In Your Inner Ear', as I have a gig on Sunday. It’s both worrying and impressive to note that, on completing the recording, we’d reached a total of twenty-two hours of us wittering on. That’s a lot of blabbering, in anyone’s books. By a week Sunday, there’ll be a day’s worth of In Your Inner Ears available to download from the SG1 website. I can only imagine the force behind the fist of the person who’d want to punch me in the face after listening to them all in real time. I wouldn’t begrudge them hitting me; in fact, I’d condone it. The topic for last night’s show, as I mentioned in yesterday’s blog, was ‘life’, which was suitably vague. It gave Glyn, Steve and me another chance to vent our collective spleen over the many ludicrous situations we find ourselves in in everyday life. Steve’s stories were particularly entertaining. I never knew that the handlebars came off his bike d...

It’s hard to sing a top Bb discreetly in a tiny room in a shared office building without drawing attention to yourself. I say “sing”, when I in fact mean “screech”. The reason for my repeated attempts to hit a note that's a tone out of my vocal range was I was putting together a jingle for this Sunday’s In Your Inner Ear , which we’re prerecording tonight. It wasn’t a pretty sound, I can tell you. It didn’t help that I was trying to achieve the impossible task of singing both full out and quietly at the same time. It's a good job there wasn’t a mirror in view, or I’d have been subjected to some strange facial expressions in the process. The other people in the building must have heard me. It would have been hard not to. They probably wondered what the hell I was up to. “Why is the socially awkward half of those two blokes who rent that broom cupboard as a workspace shouting the word ‘life’ at the top of his voice?” they'd have thought (or words to that effect)...

These days, I’m unable to drink alcohol to excess - or at all, it seems. Last night, I met my friend Rob for a long overdue catch-up at our once-regular haunt, The Spice of Life in Soho. Whenever we used to rehearse for the Buddy Holly show, Glad All Over, or whichever gig we were working on, we’d factor in a drink (or three) afterwards. It was an unwritten rule. Invariably, I’d head home far later than intended, with my body on the outside of a fair share of Guinness. Despite my recklessness, I’d cope with this alcoholic intake. It was a good way to unwind from the day’s work, which was often spent in the shittiest of shit rehearsal studios. Yesterday, in a change to the usual pattern, I only had two pints – yet despite drinking next-to-nothing, I’ve spent the the day feeling like I'm recovering from a ten-hour stint on a fairground rotor. It was worth the nausea. It’s always nice to see Rob. We seldom get the chance to meet these days, which is a shame. He’s a good ...

By holding the long note at the end of ‘Lovely Day’, Bill Withers created a rod for his own back.  (Jump to the 3:02 mark) When he made the record back in 1977, he was 39-year-old man at the peak of his abilities. Holding a top E for eighteen seconds would have presented a challenge, but one he could both accept and fulfill. Spin forward to 2015 and he’s seventy-eight. Sustaining it now would be a near-impossibility; it’s no wonder he bowed out of the music industry in the 1980s, as he did. If he was still touring, his audience would bay for blood if he couldn’t hold it. If anything, they’d expect a note twice as long as the one in the studio recording. On taking an in-breath, he’d spot a punter holding up a sign with ‘DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY’ written on it, and bottle out. It would be too much pressure. The only way out would be to present his mic to audience and let them attempt it instead. Holding the title of 'Second Longest Note in UK Chart History...

Tonight saw the tenth episode of In Your Inner Ear; a small milestone that's suddenly crept up on us.  ‎ Bizarrely, less than an hour before the show started, we weren't entirely sure where to go to broadcast it; the station is about to move home, and we couldn't get hold of the guy in charge to find out if they'd changed location yet. I can't imagine them having a similar problem at Broadcasting House. We ended up driving around the outskirts of Stevenage with forty minutes to go, trying to find a DJ's house to pick up a key for the studio, which it turned out hadn't upped sticks yet; it's the one of the few times in my life I've felt an affinity with Anneka Rice on Treasure Hunt (in public, that is). Despite the confusion leading up to it, the show was enjoyable to do. As with last week, it was very relaxed. We had to plan it independently of each other, as we hadn't had time to meet up to discuss it. This didn't matter. It gave th...

I don’t know what to do with myself when there's no Mostly Comedy to repeatedly check ticket sales for. It’s the first thing I do when I switch on my computer. Then I do it again…and again. If I’m walking down the street, I’ll check it on my phone. It’s a habit I can’t get out of. I think I’m obsessed. It’s not about making money; if we set the club up with that as our motivation, we went into the wrong business. I just want to see that it does well. It’s a mixture of pride and compulsion: I can’t get the Mostly Comedy ticket-selling-monkey off my back. If anything, I should be pleased to have a break. Our next date is in September with Stewart Lee, which sold out in four hours back in June. Before long, we’ll turn our minds to finalising our Autumn / Winter line-ups and then put them on sale. I’ll have another list of gigs to fixate about then. At least it stops me from constantly flicking all my light switches on and off. There are wo...

I was delighted with how last night’s Summer Special went.  Me, standing up. The fact it went so well was due in no small part to our technician Paul Williams, who’d rigged the lights and sound prior to our arrival, meaning for the first time in seven years, we arrived to a space that was nearly set up and ready for us. His attention to detail, particularly with lighting, gave the show an extra kick that lifted it from a standard Mostly Comedy to the ‘special’ of its title. (I would have worded that better if I’d had more sleep.) Glyn and me, standing up. We were pleasantly surprised with how well the show worked in the space. While we’re both very familiar with The Sun Hotel, having attending gigs and meetings there in the past (Glyn’s wife also used to work there), we weren’t sure if it would be right for comedy. I’m pleased to say that we were wrong; it was the best Summer Special by a long chalk, with a great atmosphere ...

Is this the dullest album cover of all time? I may be consumed with anti-Eighties bias. The sleeve for the Beatles’ White Album has a lot less going on. I’d argue, however, that a minimalistic cover with just the artist’s name embossed on it and a limited-edition serial number is preferential to a photo of a man in a cagoule, particularly if they’re also sporting a mullet. I should clarify that I’m a fan of George Harrison. I’m also fond of all-weather wear. I just don’t think the two should have mixed in this context. George may have been an avid gardener, but when he came indoors to pose for the photographer he could have at least changed his outfit. The record itself is a feat for false advertising. Every song, bar one, was released between 1979-1989, which is a very narrow margin. A compilation that claims to contain Harrison’s finest work yet misses off My Sweet Lord and All Things Must Pass is very suspicious. I’ve never see...

This morning, I decided to venture into my old haunt Caffè Nero, to do some admin before going to the office to rehearse. It’s been a long time since I’ve sat in to work. There was a point, a year or so ago, when I’d come here every day. It was a great way of getting out of the house to spur myself on to write. When you’re self-employed and haven’t got much in the diary, it’s easy to stay at home and do nothing. You wind up not speaking to anyone all day. If I hadn’t made a point of walking into town each morning, finding a table in my favourite coffee shop and then getting out my laptop, this blog wouldn’t exist. I also wouldn’t have worked up any stand-up material; Hitchin’s branch of Caffè Nero has a lot to answer for. As soon as we started renting an office, I came here less and less. Having a room to work in was invaluable, particularly when putting together my show. While Caffè Nero was great for writing, I obviously couldn’t use it to say my material out loud. If I...

I’ve strained my wrist. [INSERT YOUR PUNCHLINE HERE.] The annoying thing about being a man with a wrist injury is that if you mention it to anyone, you get the same knowing look: a look that says, “I bet I know how you did that. A little too enthusiastic, were we?”. It’s the same when you catch a cold; complain once and you’re accused of suffering from man flu. I’d happily get pneumonia if only to show these people up. Men can be ill too, you know. I’ve always had weak wrists [INSERT PUNCHLINE NUMBER TWO]. It stems from being a guitarist. I’d often have problems on tour. If you’re playing for two hours a night in different conditions and at varying temperatures, it’s easy to strain them. You’d then never have sufficient time to let them heal. I’ve put up with it since I was in a band as a teenager. Though I seldom play these days, it still flares up; it wreaks havoc with my juggling. It happens to my right hand most often, which isn’t so bad, as I’m left handed. I can st...

If you held me at gunpoint and asked what my favourite rhyming Indian restaurant name was, I’d have to say the Gandhi, Sandy.    It’s up against stiff competition, to be fair. The Ravi Shankar, Bognor only misses out through being fictional and a half-rhyme at that. Despite the photograph finish, The Gandhi, Sandy wears the crown; whoever came up with it deserves a mention in the New Year Honours List. I spotted the sign for it eight years ago, whilst posing for photographs to promote Glyn's and my sitcom pilot Chipped, Battered and Burgered. The piece was set in a chip shop in the early 1980s for which we needed a suitably old-fashioned backdrop. Glyn’s dad (who runs the Town Fryer, Hitchin) had just taken on a shop in Sandy that was perfect for the job. It only took half an hour’s snapping and a little subsequent Photoshopping to transform Bedfordshire’s branch of the Town Fryer into the Fiscothèque in our script. There w...

Tonight’s episode of In Your Inner Ear was the most relaxed one to do. Maybe it’s because our chosen topic for the evening – being dull – is very close to our hearts, be it intentionally or unintentionally. Or perhaps, now we’ve reached our ninth programme, we’ve got into the groove of what we doing enough to not be flustered by it. Whatever the reason, it felt good to do. It was less like making a radio show, and more like having an enjoyable conversation, without tipping so far off the scale as to become self-indulgent (though I’ll confirm this when I’ve listened back to it). The only frustrating thing is the quality of the broadcast, which is very variable. This is something the owner of the station is aware of (as I’ve mentioned previously) and is trying to fix. The studio moves to different premises shortly, possibly before next week’s broadcast, which will allow the chance to look at the set-up from scratch, and improve it. Either way, the st...

Around six or seven years ago, when I was still teaching drama, I wrote a pantomime for one of the schools I worked at. I’d often write scenes or songs for this particular school. The great thing about the students was they were all very talented. A lot of the older kids had a firm grasp of comedy, which helped me tremendously when it came to writing the script. I knew I could drag the dialogue toward my own style for the most part and they would understand what I meant. That said, I had to bear in mind that I was writing for an age range that spanned from six to sixteen, which was quite a width. I also wanted to keep to most of the panto traditions, to give the kids an understanding of the idiom. Yes…”idiom”. The story I based my script on was Aladdin. You’ll find the prologue below. It was performed by the entire school, with different students taking different lines. There’s nothing funny in it, save the appalling 'station / washer-w...

Singing a one-word five-part harmony of a minor seventh chord has been a weekly event for the past few months.  The reason I've been unleashing my inner-Beach-Boy is to record jingles for our new radio show; one for every topic-of-choice, going up a semitone each week. While the results are amusing, I can’t help but think I’ve created a rod for my own back. The first chord was a Cmin7, with a top C as its highest note, which was easy enough to reach. The chord for Sunday’s show (episode nine) is a G#min7, featuring a top G#, which is a semitone higher than the peak of my official vocal range. If I carry on like this, by September, I’ll be singing notes only dogs can hear; dogs, not Doggetts. Perhaps I’m being over-dramatic. I can use different chord inversions in future to prevent any unnecessary screeching; either that, or come back down the scale. I’m the one making the rules here, damn it. Having said that, I like to challenge myself. I won’t stop until ...

It’s very hard to rehearse a stand-up show with Bryan Adams’ '(Everything I Do) I Do it For You' blaring from the doorway of the upholsterers’ workshop opposite. I know that's a specialist excuse. It also isn’t valid. The six-minute-and-thirty-three-second running time of Adams’ signature hit takes up a tiny fraction of a typical working day. It’s the only song the upholsterers have played since I’ve been in the office and they've only played it once. I’m just looking for a way out. The hardest part to being self-employed is getting motivated. This is particularly the case when the lion’s share of the work is done. The show is written and has already been performed in front of an audience; I just need to tweak it. But how can I do this, when both the kettle and the biscuit barrel are within arm’s reach? There’s a shade of Parkinson’s Law to my situation: "work expands to fill the time available". It’s like completing GSCE coursework: however lon...