mostly david ephgrave

Today saw the second instalment of this year's series of the Bake Off, which I watched with the fingers of one hand poised on my mobile's Twitter app, and the other hovering over the biscuit barrel; I like to multi-task. See below for a round-up of my sweet-treat tweets, thus marking the third day running of Twitter-based blog posts; it seems that after Edinburgh, I can only write in 140-character bursts. 8:01pm: Mel's hood makes her look like Rod Stewart. 8:04pm: The strings underscoring #GBBO are played by the Hollywood, Berry, Perkins and Giedroyc Quartet.   8:05pm: Val's ice cream anecdote was worthy of Parkinson.   8:07pm: Tom packing a sausage = FOOD PORN. 12:08pm: Benjamina's not a name. 8:11pm: I like how the colour of Paul Hollywood's beard fades into his shirt. 8:14pm: Paul & Mary's challenge: make 24 identical biscuits. David's challenge: to eat 24 identical biscuits before the end of segment. 8:16pm: The downside to...

This morning, before catching the train home from Edinburgh (which I'm still on as we speak; delayed, of course), I took a taxi to the Parcelforce depot and back to my digs, to send my projector, screen and the rest of my equipment down south. Thankfully, this went pretty seamlessly, which was good, as I was worried something would slow me down and make me miss my train. While there weren't any problems to stall me, the journey was eventful, which I documented for posterity on Twitter. See below a blow-by-blow account of my trip; who says my blog isn't a fascinating and useful resource? 8:55am: Passing through Edinburgh in a taxi to drop off my props at the Parcelforce depot. It's already a ghost town comparatively, post-EdFringe. 9:04am: Passing a shop called Better Tiles. Than whom? 9:05am: Passing Black Dog Barbers. Tailoring specifically to a depressed Winson Churchill? 9:06am: ...and SuperNews. For SuperTed? ...

“If you can’t say something nice, don’t say nothing at all”. So says Thumper in Bambi. While this may be sage advice from a rabbit, it isn’t necessarily the case when tweeting along to BBC2's University Challenge. This week’s show saw a battle between the two university Goliaths: Cambridge (Robinson) and Oxford (Wadham). While the former won the game, the latter came first when it came to amusing hair and eyebrow combinations, thanks to the follicular work of Holmes and Lucas. In fact, it seems I was obsessed with hair in general when tweeting about this week's programme, as the following posts attest. I may be big, but I’m not clever; clearly, or I’d be competing myself (though I’m not sure if my drama school diploma in Acting & Musical Theatre would class as a university qualification). Robinson - Cambridge Vs. Wadham - Oxford (29.08.16) 8:02pm: Anyone who says 'reading' instead of 'studying' needs a swift punch...

As far as I'm concerned , that’s this year’s Fringe done with. What a month it's been. I emerge, twenty-six days from when I first stepped off the train, exhausted, emotionless, brain-dead, but proud of what I've achieved. To do my first solo run in Edinburgh was always going to be a big step; one I would never have dreamed of taking when I first brought a show here with Glyn eight years ago. Not everything was a success – it was never going to be – but on the whole, I’m satisfied with how things panned out. I’ve been far less happy with how things have transpired in the past. Perhaps the biggest frustration was only getting two reviews (a favourable one from Broadway Baby, and a slating from a Twitter reviewer who missed the first ten minutes of the show and consequently didn’t give it a fair hearing), but this was two more than many comics I know who truly deserved them. I would have liked more of an industry presence too, but this was always going to be diff...

Not only is there only one Jasper Carrot; there's also only one more show to go. Today’s show was quite a fun one, although as I write this, I’m struggling to remember which gig it was, through overtiredness. I know there weren’t any incidents and I seem to remember laughter, but as for the detail, it’s temporarily slipped my mind; that’s what happens when you do twenty-four-plus shows in a row with only one day off. When Dan - the act who follows me in the space – came into the room after my show, he looked genuinely jealous of me for having just one left, while I no doubt looked at my techie Fraser with a similar expression when he did his last show this evening, which I tech for him. Each and everyone of us up here are shells of the people we were when we started the month, and all of us could do with a break. That’s not to say that this year’s Fringe wasn't a rewarding and enjoyable experience – I’ve had a great time – but even the best...

It’s official: at time of going to press, I only have two Edinburgh shows left. It’s strange to finally be at a point on the calendar I almost never thought I’d reach. Many’s the time I’d look at the wall planner in Glyn’s and my office, scan my eyes over August and think I’d never get a show together in time for it, let alone reach the end of the run. It was the cause of fear, self-doubt and anxiety on and off from the moment I decided to go to Scotland to do my first solo Edinburgh run; now it’s nearly over, those feelings have been replaced with pride and even a little faith in my own ability - though like any performer, my insecurities haven’t left completely. In a strange way, as I’ve got more tired over the last week or so, my show's become more enjoyable. I play with the material a darn sight more than I did a few weeks back. Today was a case in point, when a slightly older, quieter contingent to the audience needed constant cajoling to ...

In many ways, today was one of my best days for taking in the Edinburgh Fringe experience thus far. Don’t get me wrong: I’m tired beyond belief, and start each day in a brain-fugged state, barely able to work up any energy, until my show kicks off and Doctor Theatre steps in to give me the drive I need to see me through to the end. As it stands, I’ve hit a bit of a purple patch with my shows, having enjoyed all of them for the best part of a week. Something seems to have kicked into gear; whatever it is, I hope it sticks around until Sunday, when my run draws to a close; I’ve started to rely on it. At lot of this comes down to being relaxed on stage. It’s so easy to be thrown by what’s around you, and end up not being present or on form. There was something Fraser said this morning when we were discussing our last few shows left. I mentioned how having a good show often gives me a sense of foreboding about the next, to which he said, ‘I’ve decided to make it impossible for...

It’s hard to believe that it’s Great British Bake Off season again, but it is. It only seems like a couple of months ago that we were rooting for that one who made the cakes, and the other who was good at making pastry. Then there was the guy who…I don’t know…was on the Bake Off, do you remember? To be honest, outside of Nadiya and Tamal, it’s all a bit of a blur. Still, before long we will have learnt all of the 2016 series’ contestants and be choosing our favourites. I’m known for tweeting along with the programme, and today's no exception. See below for what I posted while watching tonight’s show, after rushing back to my Edinburgh digs to catch the beginning. See you for next week’s instalment; same time, same place.   8:05pm: Val: "Retired grandmother?" 8:06pm: Mary's hair helmet resembles an early Thatcher barnet. 8:07pm: Was it just perspective, or did Michael have a massive pencil? 8:09pm: Quite tart? Likes the ...

In many ways, today’s show was the best of the run so far, and the most fun. For the first time, everyone filled from the front, making for a pack of punters right in my eye line, who were on board throughout. I had enough laughter to sit back on and help me enjoy telling the stories, rather than feeling I had to fight to keep the ball in the air (clunky football analogy). It may have been a little indulgent, but I mentioned my one-out-of-five score from a Twitter reviewer who said I failed to produce laughter, to an audible gasp; it was probably unnecessary to say it, but if nothing else it was good for mental health to vocalise my inner monologue at a show where the response from the audience couldn’t have been more at odds with that summary. It was nice that today’s show was a good one, as I had a friend in that I hadn’t seen properly for twenty years, despite having kept contact on Facebook and Twitter. We had a lovely chat over a drink in the ...

Today's show felt a bit like giving everyone a window into my madness.  It was a fun one, if a little unhinged. It didn't help that I sweated more than a healthy man should ever have need to sweat. I was like a mix between the Mary Rose and a water feature (both being analogies I made reference to during the gig). My cold didn't help, as it forced me to work harder, and made me out of breath. If nothing else, I felt healthier afterwards having perspired most of my illness from my system; probably at the expense of my audience, who probably picked my cold up by the time the show was out.  What was lovely about today's gig was I had a couple of comedian friends in, who were clearly on-side. You always feel pressured in these instances, but their laughter put me at ease, even if I knew the amount of water dripping from me made me look like a Gollum gone to seed.  The rest of the day was spent with Glyn, filling him in on the various highs and lows of the run to date. It...

Today was a strange day in that it took in a lot of highs and lows, with me feeling just about every emotion from happiness, to relief, to anxiety and illness (which is apparently now a psychological state). I went to the venue this morning, a little on edge, on the back of the last two shows having gone so well. Being a pessimist, this made me suspicious; “Surely by law of averages, the next one must be bad?” Amazingly, it didn’t. There were only four people in, but they were lovely throughout, despite there being a good chance they could be intimidated into silence by a performer eyeballing them throughout. My voice was still tired, but I had slightly more to play with than the previous day, and even managed to hold the long note at the end of the show without warbling and cracking like on Saturday. I walked back to my digs feeling elated, but no sooner had I got back, than my mood completely dropped. I think this comes from the nervous e...

Despite starting both with next-to-no voice, my last two shows have been most fun of the run so far. I was discussing it with Fraser after today’s show, and how being ill can give you extra fire, when he pointed out how it does something strange to your nerves, particularly at the Fringe; you adopt a ‘let’s just get through this’ attitude, and your buckling down and concentrating on working around how you fell makes you forget your usual pre-show anxiety. It helps that the last two gigs were on a Friday and a Saturday, which definitely boost numbers (even at midday). They were probably the busiest up to now, with people who were attuned to what I’m aiming at, instead of being confused. I’ve also been working harder to get past the tiredness, the mucus and the phlegm (pleasant), becoming more playful in the process. I’ve been ad-libbing more than usual, with sharper results. There are moments when I even feel like an actual comedian ; STOP PRESS. ...

I bet you didn't start your day by being threatened by a man from Scottish Gas. At just after 9 o’clock, I lifted the receiver on the security door at my digs to answer the doorbell. “Hello?” I said. Nothing. “Hello?” I repeated. Still nothing. I would have hung up, but as I missed the post the other day, I thought I’d take the risk and buzz the culprit in. A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. I opened it, to reveal a guy in blue overalls on the other side. “I’m here from Scottish Gas and I need to change your meter.” I started trying to explain to him that I wasn’t the long-term tenant or the property owner and therefore couldn’t authorise the work, when he spotted the meter above me in the hallway. Before I could finish my sentence, he’d crossed the threshold without my permission and was inside the flat. He told me that if I didn't let him do the work, he’d call the police. I explained ...