mostly david ephgrave

I’m not a bully. To be one is would mean displaying some unpleasant personal traits. While there’s nothing to be gained from being nasty, for some reason University Challenge encourages my worst side. See below for this week’s perhaps unnecessary tweets. 8:04pm: Kitchen, in the kitchen, with the dagger. 8:05pm: The player far left in York's team's name was just a noise. 8:05pm: York's mascot: excessive. 8:06pm: York's mascot: big - or York's team: small? 8:07pm: York's Cole must bring their average of twenty-two up. 8:08pm: Morton's hair gets paler the more you look at it. 8:09pm: Kitchen's hair looks like a cross between a mop and a gouged out Tribble. 8:09pm: Cole's neckline isn't fooling anyone. 8:10pm: Christ's Midha is completely emotionless. 8:11pm: Morton's hair colour faded in the wash. 8:13pm: Witnessing the horrifi...

I’ve been feeling slightly overwrought for the past few days. This partly comes from taking on too much. I have a habit of doing this, and not allowing myself downtime for my mind to reset. Meditating helps, as does adopting some mindfulness techniques, but my brain is so used to doing the opposite, and thinking ahead, that it takes a lot of unlearning for me to relax. Today’s a case in point. I’m trying to fit writing this blog into a ten-minute window before a meeting, knowing that after that I need to get my mind around a recording of Glyn’s and my radio show tonight. It helps that we roughly planned the episode a couple of months ago before our unexpected broadcast hiatus, but I still want to give myself the time to give what we’d sketched out then (which seemed funny at the time but less so now) justice. I’m also behind on my blogs, which is a self-enforced deadline, but I still don’t like it. I could do with taking a leaf out of my ca...

Tonight I did a stand-up gig in a restaurant.  The words 'stand-up' and 'restaurant' don't sit together comfortably; they're the antithesis of 'Ebony' and 'Ivory', 'Stoppit' and 'Tidyup' or 'Wogan' and 'wig'. When you've settled into a booth in an American-themed diner to devour your BBQed rack of ribs, the last thing you want is some bearded git - me - talking to you through a mic in the corner of the room, doing material about AIDS. It's not an appropriate digestif.  The situation could have been horrendous, if it weren't for the fact that the other acts were lovely, and the people who ran the restaurant were too. It couldn't be helped; sometimes an event has to go a certain way to know it shouldn't go that way again. Comedy needs full attention to work; it's not jazz (thank God). We were also treated to a meal on the house, which was a nice touch. Well, I hope it was free; i...

There’s a woman who works in my local Caffè Nero who openly forces me to make positive comments about her on their online survey, every time I go in-store. It’s got to the point where I dread going in, for fear that she might be accost me. She does it in a friendly way, if such a thing is possible, but is no less insistent – and to make things worse, any time I visit after saying something nice (as promised), she tells me I didn’t bother to fill it in. Surely there's something wrong with this arrangement? Aren't I supposed to give feedback voluntarily? I also thought the survey was meant to be anonymous; while it presumably technically is, what I say isn’t , as if I put anything either way, be it good or bad, she’ll clearly know it’s me. I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t, and if I do do it, I’m still damned, as I’m told I didn’t do it when I did. My life’s as confusing as it is stressful, and the caffeine intake isn’t helping eithe...

Tonight's gig was a world of difference from last night's, as often seems to be the case when I've recently had a bad one.  The room was small and sparsely populated (mostly with other comics); so much so that we took a straw poll just prior to 'kick-off' (football parlance) and nearly decided not to go ahead. Though I wanted to do it, to put to bed the previous night's teeth-pulling open mic experience, I'm easily swayed; another way of putting it is 'lazy'. If there's a chance of bowing out, I'm the first to bend over, so to speak.  I'm glad we did it in the end. Everyone was friendly and easy-going, and the acts were great. It had none of the oppressive undercurrent of last night's OpenMicGate. In many ways, it helped that the room was small and brightly lit, as it forced us all to be a part of it. It was essentially an informal chat over a P.A. system. I didn't see a single stern face either, which was a blessed ...

Sometimes, doing stand-up isn't good for your mental health; when a set doesn't go well, it can serve to reinforce all the bad, yet false things you think about yourself. I find this flares up for me the most at open mic nights. (I'm feeling dramatic, so bear with me.)   I like to think of myself as a supportive audience member in these situations. I listen to the other acts, rather than shutting myself off, and above all, I smile when they're on. This isn't a contrivance; it comes through knowing what it's like to perform to a sea of blank faces. It's a small thing, but it can help to egg a performer on. I enjoy listening to people's stories, and watching them do their thing. Sadly, this often isn't reciprocated.  Tonight was a case in point. I did a five-minute spot at a well-run New Material Night and decided to take the title literally, and use it to road-test three new stories I hadn't told in pub...

Never underestimate the power of Stevenage Town Centre for lowering your morale. I was only there for an hour this afternoon, which was still enough time to create a negative impact. It’s just so bleak. I swear it didn’t used to be like this; when I grew up there, I was its biggest defender, but I may have been looking through the rose-tinted spectacles of youth. Whatever the case, there’s been a definite decline; what was once an aspiring new town is now the sort of place to avoid eye contact at all costs. God forbid you ever stand out. The main thing going against it is the logistics; where was the sense in building the town centre so far away from the residential areas? Damn those new town planners. Damn them to Hell. Perhaps the most depressing thing I saw on my visit to Stevenage was the Santa’s Grotto in Westgate Shopping Centre. Surely no child would be foolish enough to think the real Santa would set up shop there. Which reminds me ...

Another week passes and another episode of University Challenge airs. See below for today’s low-level Twitter unpleasantness; if it’s any consolation, I was retweeted by Bennett and Wainwright, so they must have seen the funny side. 8:01pm: How many times will Jeremy say "Come on"? Too many. 8:02pm: Goggin; daughter of Postman Pat's boss. 8:03pm: LOOK AT BENNETT. 8:04pm: Robin Wainwright: born for # UniversityChallenge . It was written in the stars. 8:05pm: Cable has murdered more people than you'll ever know. 8:07pm: Wainwright used to be close friends with Scooby-Doo. 8:07pm: Wainwright's hair comes off in one piece. 8:08pm: Bennett thinks his jacket makes him look 'wacky'. 8:10pm: Bennett is dressed like a waiter in a Two Ronnies sketch. 8:11pm: Wainwright's hair is made of Fuzzy Felt. 8:14pm: Cable: seen in a petrol station robbery photofit near yo...

I wasn’t as productive today as I would have liked. I went into the office in the afternoon to work on some new material, but didn’t get very far with it, save going through the last few months’ worth of blogs, making a list of a few I felt might be suitable. I don’t think it helped that I haven’t slept particularly well over the last few days, so haven’t had much in the way of brain capacity when it comes to working things out. While I may not have got much writing done today, I did manage to do a few things around the house. Top of the list was taking my recycling out, which had built up over the past couple of weeks and was close to reaching crisis point. It’s collected on Fridays in my area, and if you don’t put your stuff in the bin almost as soon as it’s returned, you stand little to no chance of fitting it in. Thankfully, there was just enough room left today, though not without a little gentle encouragement. (This is riveting stuff....

I’ve just finished editing episode twenty-one of the More Than Mostly Comedy Podcast; or, to borrow the parlance of the sitcom Friends, ‘The One with Paul & Debbie’. Listening to it reminded me of how lucky we are to interview the people we do. The conversation with Daniels and McGee takes up a sizable portion of the podcast - a good thirty to forty minutes – and covers a lot of ground. It was a privilege to talk to them in such detail, bringing up subjects and asking questions that have been on our minds for years. I, for example, was able to tell Paul about visiting Television Centre as a child to watch him film an episode of Wipeout, and share an anecdotal joke about it that made him laugh. If you’d told the younger version of me that I'd get the chance to do that, I would never have believed it. In many ways, the podcast is the best and most useful part of Mostly Comedy. It gives us the chance to have a proper chat with the acts, briefl...

Tonight’s Mostly Comedy was one of the most surreal and exciting gigs of my life. Paul Daniels at tonight's Hitchin Mostly Comedy (photos by Gemma Poole ). I never dreamt I’d share a bill with my childhood hero Paul Daniels; least of all at my own event. I never thought I’d make him a cup of tea ( milk and sugar), share a laugh backstage with the genuinely lovely Debbie McGee – and get to interview them with my equally ecstatic double-act partner, and then watch Paul perform a trick just for our benefit. The evening was packed with pinch-yourself moments; so much so, the ten-year-old inside me didn’t know what to do with himself. Paul Daniels and Debbie McGee onstage at Hitchin Mostly Comedy (19.11.15) We’ve played host to a lot of big names at Mostly Comedy, but somehow, PD trumped them all. The atmosphere in the room when he was onstage was electric; the roar from the audience when he let a “Not a lot” slip towards the end of his set nearly took the roof...

Any regulars at Mostly Comedy tomorrow will be pleased to learn that after seven years, I’ve finally got around to changing the house music. We haven’t really played the same tracklist at every gig, though it isn’t far off. The reason it’s taken so long to switch things around is it’s not as simple as choosing a different CD or putting our MP3 player on shuffle. For ease of running on the night, all of our technical queues – be it music, video or pictures – are built into a slideshow, which I control from the stage by remote. This was originally done to simplify things, as everything comes from one source (which was useful when we did our shows in Edinburgh and ran Mostly Comedy in London, as we didn’t have a technician) – but it’s also because I’m a control freak. If I had my way, I’d be King of the World; like King of the Hill, only less cartoonlike. It’s not that we didn’t want to change it - we’ve had the best intentions – but when there’s a lo...

My meditation teacher has an alarming aptitude for explaining things clearly and succinctly. Seldom will a class go by without him making an excellent point or analogy illustrating the message he’s trying to get across. He makes you stop and think, which is great, as this constant reiteration of what’s important is vital, as it can be easily forgotten in the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Far better to take stock of where you’re at from time to time, than let your plans run away with you. He’s very wise, that man. I nearly didn’t go to tonight’s lesson, as the weather was uninspiring, but I’m glad I did. I missed the beginning, due to public transport, and had to leave before the end as the class had overrun, but what I did take part in was worth being brave enough to venture out of the house. The only thing I didn’t appreciate was the journey there, as there were a handful of teenagers on the bus, being low-level threatening and unpleasant....

While I’m hoping my dad will come over to look at my broken boiler today, the downside to this is I feel the need to swing into action an ‘Operation Cleanup’. It’s not that I live in squalor. It’s just that, being a man of limited means – and limited DIY ability – I find myself surrounded by a string of things I haven’t fixed, or little household jobs I haven’t got around to doing just yet. While this leads to low level frustration from day to day, when nothing quite works how I want it, when someone else comes to visit, I start to see my flat from their perspective; worse still when this person is my dad, who takes the underlying definition of dad (i.e. Handyman Machine) to the extreme. He makes a mockery of my skill-set of basic juggling and pronouncing- Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch-capability. At the time of writing this (7:39am) the military manoeuvre has begun. It started with fixing my loose toilet seat, which I did before breakfast. Th...

I’m concerned that the woolly hat I've unleashed on the public today makes me look like I'm up to something nefarious. It’s a Christmas present I hadn't worn outside the house until this evening, mainly due to the reason above. The transformation it brings about is miraculous. I become an identikit representation of myself; the sort of person I’d cross the road to avoid, if that weren't an impossibility. I'm sure that Kirsty Young's talked about me on Crimewatch.  (Or was it Baywatch?) My beanie was debuted out of necessity. I woke up today to no hot water; a situation that didn't improve as the day went on, despite my extensive (-ly limited) troubleshooting. Consequently, every bathroom visit has been made with my kettle in tow, which weren’t conducive to hair-washing ability. Until the problem is fixed, I'm 'Mr Thinsulate': the toastiest, yet shiftiest of the Mr Men. So, if you see me on the st...

Tonight's evening in the Ephgrave household (flat) consisted of eating cheese and biscuits – like the aspirational middle-class people we are – and watching Strictly – like our inner Plebeians. See below for the usual Twitter-based nonsense; how much sense it makes out of context is up to interpretation.            6:55pm: Len could at least have the decency to get up off his seat. 6:56pm: "Singer and loose woman, Jamelia." 7:00pm: By being on TV tonight, Gleb just made fifteen million female viewers pregnant. 7:01pm: We've all seen Gleb in the park on a Saturday night, haven't we? HAVEN'T WE? 7:03pm: Bruno's 'Gleb / park' quip may have been an invitation. 7:07pm: Jay's dance started with some serious chest-thrusting-out-in-a-waistcoat action. 7:10pm: He missed Hans at the end? I must have missed Hans too. 7:10pm: Jay's neckwear: tie of a cravat? You decide. 7:12pm: Jay's compass tat...