mostly david ephgrave

It's nigh-on inevitable to feel the need to summarise at New Year, even though the anniversary's arbitrary. A lot of people find New Year depressing, but I've always quite liked it; arbitrary or not, I appreciate the sense of a fresh start.  It's similar to how I felt at the beginning of a school term, or when Christening stationery; nothing beats writing your name & form number on the front of a new rough book, except for heroin.  2018's been a political shitstorm, from Brexit to Trump and all points in-between; hardly a day's gone by without a depressing headline or ten, with no sign of abatement in the near (or far) future. These problems can feel insurmountable with little hope of change on the horizon. Having said that, if the past year's had a theme, particularly on social media, it's that of the vulnerable finding a voice; perhaps the biggest cause of the political upheaval of recent times is apathy, but this trait seems to be diminishing,

Today, my wife and I went on an expedition to introduce our new dog Elwood to my parents. We drove to my Dad's with Elwood in tow, who once again displayed perfect travel etiquette. From the moment they met him I think my dad in particular was smitten, repeatedly offering to look after him whenever we need it. I was particularly glad this was his reaction as he's not been very well lately, so it would be nice for Elwood to be a positive influence in his own way. After he'd had a good explore around the house, we took him out to the garden, which is secure enough for us to let him off the lead without issue (he said, tempting fate). Once he'd realised he was free to run about he made the most of it by galloping around like a nutter. We then got out his squeaky ball (who's his nemesis, second only to squirrels) and played fetch, while he shot about the garden in his element. After that, we had a cup of tea with my parents and my mum handed over some treats she&

Here I was, about to write a blog about watching the Billy Wilder film 'The Apartment', when I did a quick search to discover I wrote one on the subject the last time I saw it. While I obviously felt suitably inspired to discuss how much I enjoyed it and how good I thought Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine's performances were, there isn't much point when I've already covered it. Such is the nature of writing a blog nearly every day for the past five years: it's more likely than not that any topic you're interested in you've already deliberated to some extent, particularly for an excuse to fill a page when your inspiration's a little tested. The only thing I want to reiterate is how great Jack Lemmon is in it; he's effortlessly and undeniably  brilliant without missing a beat. It's the sort of performance that makes me wish I was in the film myself (this, even though it was made twenty-one years before I was born); it's real while also

Last night, I watched ‘Bob Monkhouse: The Last Stand’ on BBC4 (which documents his final gig at the pub theatre The Albany in London in 2003 to an audience of fellow comics) and was knocked out by how pitch-perfect his performance was; this despite being so ill, he sadly died a few months later. I’d seen clips from the gig previously and knew it was good, but seeing the majority of his set last night revealed the word “good” doesn’t do it justice; his timing and delivery was immaculate, truly immaculate,  managing to somehow be both polished and low-key in equal measure. The fact I’ve gigged at the Albany myself and could see people I knew among the crowd at the Monkhouse show only served to underline how immediate and brave that performance was; it’s a joy to watch a man still at the top of his game. It made me laugh to see him standing backstage before going on, knowing how tiny that area is. And to watch him perform to an audience that by rights should hav

One positive upshot to having a dog (and yes, this is another dog blog) is I get to see lovely morning or night skies I might have missed otherwise, along with the general sights that go with being outdoors more often. Walking the dog is an exercise in mindfulness; something I discovered long ago when looking after my mum’s dog Barley, who has a habit of snaffling up anything you pass that vaguely fits the definition of edible. Like most dogs, his nose is his main tool for catching up on gossip, and he'll happily scour the perimeter of the park for any canine news, eating anything he finds on his travels if you let him. Consequently, your attention's more focussed on here and how than usual and you get to see much more of what’s around you. My dog Elwood’s eating habits are similar to Barley's except he’s possibly slightly more discerning, so my eyeline’s allowed to be cast higher than ground level at least every few minutes. If it’s early or late

I think I’m starting to get used to this having a dog malarkey. He’s settled in with remarkable ease and is no trouble at all really. He’s currently asleep next to me on the sofa and - despite being officially fucking massive - somehow manages to take up so little space. It’s nice to have his company during the day when I’m working, although we still need to get him gradually used to spending a little time on his own so I can go out without a big dog in tow (today was a good example when I narrowly missed out on a hair cut as the shop had closed early by the time my wife had finished work and got back to take over the dog-sitting; consequently I’m going to loaf around tomorrow like some kind of long-haired layabout. I’m also grateful for the chance of extra exercise, having become increasingly lapse with getting out of the house in the months since Edinburgh. At the moment I tend to take him out for around an hour in the morning, and either my wife or I will

As I popped into to Wilkinson today to buy some scales for a baking emergency (we’ve all had them) Nat King Cole’s Christmas song was being piped into the shop - one of the few festive records it’s practically impossible to object to - and hearing it brought back memories to one of my favourite moments in the Buddy Holly Christmas show when I used to do it. The show’s script was made up of various bits of business that had been handed down from cast to cast through the years, with the Christmas tour inevitably containing extra festive songs and banter. Each band member got to sing a Christmas song and Buddy’s was the Nat King Cole one. The second half of the song descended into end of the pier comedy with the rest of the band coming on as a faux choir singing backing to me while wearing Christmas jumpers, but the first half felt quite special as it was just me in a spotlight with an acoustic. It was the loosest arrangement in the whole show but it was a nice

This time of year's tough when you’re on a low income as every shop window and TV advert is pushing the materialistic manifesto, making you feel you should have spent more, or that you’re somehow failing if you’re family doesn’t fit the standard mould. For years Christmas has felt like a pastime that doesn’t apply to me. This is due to a whole host of reasons and habits that have formed over time and are hard to shake. For one I hate enforced jollity, and social situations practically bring me out in a rash. I also loathe the pressure and expectation the festive season places on you, whether you like it or not; however much you plough your own furrow in life, there’s something about the ITV, greeting-card nature of Christmas that makes you feel you haven't done enough - or your family isn't perfect enough - to make the grade. I think the problem stems from how ever-present Christmas clichés have become; at best, the saturation wears you down, and at wors