mostly david ephgrave

When three people on the bus pressed the bell at exactly the same time today, I expected us to be thrown into another dimension. At the very least I thought something excitingly untoward would happen, but it wasn't to be; instead, we just ground to a halt at the next stop. It has to be the biggest anticlimax experienced on public transport since a megabus customer took the company name too literally (although their decision to stylise their brand-name completely lowercase is a bit of a clue). I wasn't even going into town for anything thrilling; I was there to collect a parcel and buy some dog wipes. So the promise of a three-person button-press was the ultimate damp squib. It didn't even result in a special bell-ring; next time, I think I'll walk.

Fourteen years ago yesterday, I went on my first date with my wife, which now puts us in our fifteenth year; I wonder if we get a prize for this? Or a grant at least. If I try to weigh up whether it feels that long ago, I'd say it probably does - it certainly doesn't seem like only last week - and yet I can safely say that night at the Hen & Chickens in Islington was the beginning of something truly special for me that still keeps giving fourteen years later; without wishing to provoke vomit, my life got better from there on in. The main thing I gained was the sense of a problem shared; I know we're a team and I have someone I trust implicitly. I'm very aware of how fortunate I am to have this. It's also something that time only strengthens and getting married strengthened it still. To say I'm lucky would be an understatement when so many people struggle to find someone to be with, let alone have anything in common. Somehow, I landed on my feet (which ...

It was great to see Alan Partridge return to his much-longed-for home the BBC tonight. I've loved Alan pretty much since the beginning, when tapes of his early appearances in Radio 4's 'On the Hour' and 'Knowing Me, Knowing You' would pass between a few select friends who were in-the-know. I can still remember the first time I saw his face, in a trailer for the TV version of 'Knowing Me, Knowing You' - I didn't get to 'The Day Today' until a little later - and how excited seeing it made me; I was so obsessed, I recorded the audio of his ABBA medley with Rebecca Front with a tape recorder and would often sing along to it in Alan-style. The first series of 'I'm Alan Partridge' was a revelation, coming at the time I'd moved to college to do a BTEC in Performing Arts. Each week, I'd disappear to the upstairs bedroom where we kept our spare telly to watch the latest episode in near-religious style, to then pick it apart rev...

it was hard to not feel a little paranoid when I took my dog out for before-bed wees this evening while a helicopter flew slowly around and ahead throughout. It was akin to that moment when a teacher within the chain of command would come in to speak to the class to see who caused some misdemeanour whilst we stood behind our tables, desperate to present innocence, but concerned that all we were giving off was guilt; I'm the king of feeling suspicious for something I didn't even do, so the suggestion of a helicopter looking out for someone up to something nefarious was bound to compare this. What if they were looking for a criminal walking a horse-sized pet? Then there could have been trouble. Despite it being pitch-black they were scouring the ground for something, and how can I differentiate myself from the common criminal when they're probably looking at me through a heat sensor (unless evil people's blood truly runs cold). Even if they didn't confuse me with ...

Yesterday's Mostly Comedy was another good one, though this was pretty inevitable with Ardal O'Hanlon on the bill. Ardal at last night's show. It's only the second time he's appeared at the club, with his first visit being almost exactly two years ago to the day. What was evident from the off was how nice he is, as well as being generous with praise; the first thing he said as I walked backstage after Glyn's and my opening set was, "That was a very strong beginning; it was great"; kind words from a performer I've always rated very highly and looked up to since I first became aware of him from Father Ted back in the day. Daniel Cook in the blue. The other act on the bill last night is also a special one and a very nice chap - my former venue-buddy from two years' worth of Edinburgh Fringes, Daniel Cook - who's only ever appeared on a Mostly bill once before, when he shared a preview with me at The Market Theatre as part of ou...

My whole life currently consists of me rushing about to get nothing done. Today's a good example as there's a Mostly Comedy at the end of it that I haven't had the time to prepare for, and as I attempt to do this, my attention is completely split. It probably doesn't help that I don't feel match-fit to perform tonight, as I haven't really had my comedy head on lately (not in a Frank Sidebottom sense); I've been mostly knee-deep in admin (he says melodramatically), which is hardly a suitable warm-up. Hopefully the fact Glyn's back with us tonight - he had to miss the last show due to touring - will help. The plus-(and sometimes minus)-side to Mostly Comedy is we're seldom the focus and more the glue between the acts the audience came to see. That's not to say we can get away with not performing, but Glyn's and my time together is so minimal at the moment, there's no chance of us doing anything new; if I've been working on solo mate...

I don't want to live in a world where 363 chose to give a YouTube video of the song 'You Never Give Me Your Money' a thumbs down. In all the years I've known this song, I've never grown tired of it. It's perhaps the first instance of a Macca mini-suite in the style of 'Uncle Albert / Admiral Halsey' or 'Band on the Run', and is easily more affecting, going from the mournfulness of the first verse to the playfulness of that student-like bridge, to the sound of freedom in the last few verses. It also sparkles with beautiful clarity, from the clean ring of those opening piano chords to the crackling lead guitar fills; it's truly wonderful and a great example of why The Beatles were the best. One of the most remarkable things about the band was the rate at which they matured and grew, and this song's a perfect case in point when you compare it to what came a couple of years before it; this is not the same band that produced 'From Me...

One thing we learnt from Donald Trump's announcement that he was declaring a National Emergency to fund his fear-mongering wall: his favourite note is Bb. Mexico border wall: Trump defends emergency powers move. He hits the note eight times in the video clip accompanying the article above on the BBC News website (from 44 seconds onwards), and then another five times in the speech that immediately follows it, which the BBC sadly edited out; his keenness to aim for that particular black note makes a firm case for Bb to become the official Key of Evil; that or the Key of Total Ignorance. Perhaps the thing that bugs me most about this puffy-faced giant satsuma of a man is the way he seems content to start every sentence with absolutely no idea where it's headed, preferring to just freestyle it and hope for the best. It's like he's unable to retain any information in that foolishly coiffed bonce of his, yet he doesn't see this as a setback; after all, the fewer stat...

As I tentatively start to get my head around my creative plans for the year, there's a definite weariness attached to my long self-reliance and a longing for a time when someone else invests their energy and enthusiasm in what I'm doing, rather than having to generate that interest myself. It's ultimately boring to be the sole poster-campaign for yourself, not to mention dispiriting, while the energy and selective-deafness required is huge; being a self-employed performer requires endless patience and a fair amount of self-belief, particularly when pitted against the lack of financial security and the amount of work you put in for little tangible result. Being an actor and musician is one thing - and a marginally easier field to earn a living in - but when you throw self-producing Fringe comedian in to the mix, the amount of money you supposedly invest in what you do is insane compared with the money you get out. What I crave is a little outside belief; I know I'm c...

I recently bought some Lanolips lip balm on my wife's suggestion to help protect me while I'm out walking the dog in the cold and, in doing so, I noticed the smallprint on the side of the tube say the product has 101 uses. Now, while it's fair to say I'm very pleased with my purchase, I can still smell hyperbole a mile off, and can't help but feel they may have plucked that figure out of thin air just to please themselves. So consequently, in an occasional series, I'm going to try and count the amount of uses that spring to mind, to find out if they're lying or telling the truth. So here goes: 1) Lip salve. 2) Skin moisturiser. 3) Teeth polisher (horrible noise). 4) Stamp sticker-downer. 5) Moustache wax. 6) Eyebrow wax. 7) Nail varnish. 8) Vick's vaporub substitute. 9). Shoe polish (you'd need a lot). 10) Coin polish. 11) Brass polish. 13) POLISH. 14) WD40 substitute. 15) Elbow grease. 16) Blutack substitute (will grease up poste...

Today, I witnessed someone buy a Bounty by choice. It happened whilst I was standing in the queue at my local garage - which is stocked with pretty much every well-known confectionary you could think of, yet despite being spoilt for options, the woman behind me still told her friend she wanted a Bounty. I never knew such a thing was possible. I thought they were only ever eaten by those faced with slim pickings after sifting through boxes of Celebrations at Christmas. Yet here was a woman who would most likely have eaten the Bounties first; she must be a sadist. I mean, let's not beat around the bush: Bountys are fucking horrible; in fact they're the Devil's chocolate. Eating one's akin to biting into a bar of soap. Up until now, the only person I've ever known to enjoy one is my dad, which is why I'll usually foist upon him the aforementioned Christmas treat dregs, and it's possible he only eats them out of politeness. The woman in the garage, howev...

I feel the need to share my Twitter commentary on the unpleasant story that Fox News host Peter Hegseth hasn't washed his hands in a decade. You can't fault his logic.  But if germs don't exist, how do people get ill? Or does illness not exist? I can't see oxygen, but I know it's there. I also can't see carbon monoxide. Or smell it. So if I die of carbon monoxide poisoning, will I not be dead? I can't see Fox News. I don't get it on my TV. If we all switch off Fox News, will it not be there? If Trump goes into a room on his own, will be disappear? Can we organise it? FUCK'S SAKE.

Phil Kay's first appearance at Mostly Comedy in March 2012 was a definite turning point for the club, marking one of the earliest instances of us booking an already well-established name that hadn't started out with us to grow to that point. He was on top form that night, so the fact his whole set is available to watch on YouTube is, frankly, a bit of a treat. The act of filming it was nothing special, as we've videoed pretty much every Mostly in its entirety for the ten years we've been running*. We did this initially to offer acts a copy of their set as part of their fee - and to put together short clips of edited highlights to help promote the club - but the videoing itself is a habit we've continued to this day, although we seldom make the footage available. In fact, we've only ever shown any of the material publically twice, when we played snippets of Paul Daniels and Sean Hughes' final sets at the club as a tribute after they sadly passed away. In ...

I was sad to hear the news about Albert Finney's death today as he was a great actor, but also because he's long had a special significance to me. It was while watching the film Big Fish a number of years ago that I noticed how much Finney resembled my grandfather; something which took me surprise and knocked me for six. And it was during the scene where his character listens as his son beautifully narrates how his life story will end that I was so overtaken by how much he looked like my dad's dad (who had died five years previously) I was suddenly in an involuntary flood of tears. Watching that scene, it hit home that my grandfather had gone and I'd never see him again and that I never knew him as well as I would have liked. He'd been a strong presence in my family: an ex-sailor who'd joined the navy before the war and ended up serving throughout (and being involved in the D-Day Landings), who had a cutting sense of humour, but who had always been nice to ...

There's nothing like walking your dog through the most affluent part of town - past mini-mansion after mini-mansion - whilst squeezed into a jacket you've outgrown due to recent weight-gain and can't afford to replace, for firmly putting you in your place. (Poet.) (Don't know it.) To do this was the psychological equivalent to spending the morning underlining the words 'you're a shitshow' in red pen. Being out with the dog was pleasant - it always is - but when you're in an area that's drastically at odds with your current financial situation you can't help but feel fraudulent, like a toddler clambering about in their parents' shoes, pretending to be an adult. It didn't help that I had a letter this morning summarising last year's earnings that practically blew a raspberry at me as I opened it. The fact my clothes barely fit and I spend much of my time juggling next-to-no money about only compounds this. Consequently, I found ...

Only 37 out of 100 people surveyed for tonight's episode of Pointless knew the actress who played Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz was Judy Garland.  37 out of 100.  When given 100 seconds.  Dorothy.  JUDY GARLAND.  Fuck's sake. It's been a long time coming, but it's finally official: I despair in humanity, now it seems the vast majority of the great unwashed feel no need to retain any information about anything. If there's one role that's most associated with Judy Garland, it's Dorothy, in much the same way that Dorothy will always be synonymous with Judy; it's the sort of thing you should be able to recall without effort. In fact, it may as well go hand in hand with, "Who's the prime minister?" for emergency questions to test for senility, as I would argue if you don't know it, you either (1) live in a country that has more bigger problems to attend to, or (2) you're an idiot. The film The Wizard of Oz is so iconic it pretty...

Today's the sixtieth anniversary of the death of Buddy Holly; a man who was impossibly talented and who died stupidly young. Everything about the circumstances that led to his death were tragic. He was only twenty-two and had been married to his wife - who was expecting and miscarried soon after the accident - for just six months. He shouldn't really have even been on the Winter Dance Party Tour; he only did it because money was tight and royalties were allegedly being held back by his producer, and he needed to support his new family with something. He shouldn't have been on that flight; he was just trying to escape bleak conditions in the tour bus for a day. A string of small, yet unfortunate decisions brought a promising life to such an abrupt end that could have so easily been avoided; such is the benefit of hindsight. I've often wondered what Buddy would have gone onto do if circumstances had been different. His career barely scraped two years and in that time ...

Judging from all the barking on this morning's walk, I've concluded that my dog's previous owner was an evil snowman. His unease at the sight of the icy figure standing motionless (as they do) on the playing field close to where I live was patent from the offset, when he crossed to the other side of me, obviously confident I'd fight it off. Then, when it became clear I wasn't going to, he decided to grasp the nettle; switching from anxiety to fury as he tried to warn the rotund, inappropriately-dressed albino off. Bless him for his persistence, which was all the more marked when you consider I could count the times I've heard him bark on the fingers of one finger, or thereabouts. And yet he kept going for the duration of our walk around the field's perimeter, only worsening when he spotted a second snowman just a few feet away; he must have thought they were working together, like a pair of naked pale thugs. It was so bad I ended up taking a different ro...