mostly david ephgrave

A poster in a pub toilet, promising a set from 'one of the best Freddie Mercury tribute acts in the country' for a ticket price of £2 is either hyperbolic to-the-extreme or one hell of a loss-leader. It's not that I'm knocking them for providing a competitively priced night out - my comedy club proves I'm all-for-it - but there's a lot to be said for promoting your event accurately; to offer admission for less than a pint is to shoot yourself in the foot, metaphorically speaking, however cheap your overheads. And if the performer puts in the performance of a lifetime for just two quid, imagine what they'd do for £4.50. Not to mention how awkward it would be to watch such a flamboyant tribute in a low-ceilinged public bar; it doesn't bear thinking about. Imagine if he caught your eye; I'd be doing everything I could to swallow my own tongue as protection. And how would he tackle Barcelona if it's in the set? Would he perform it with a  Mo

Today, I did a blink-and-you'll-miss-it interview for BBC Three Counties to tell the story of my Edinburgh predicament, which came about as a result of yesterday's article on the BBC News website. Again, it's nice that people are actively taking an interest and it's good to be able to talk about my dad on air, although, as with all these press things, you quickly become a little detached when recounting a story regularly. But the nub of the matter is still painful and not something I've even begun to come to terms with yet; it's easy to forget this temporarily when you're in the swing of promoting something like fundraising for Edinburgh. It's the little details that get you. Today, I looked at the picture of us both together at the top of the BBC article when the bleak thought entered my head that my dad's face isn't anywhere anymore, other than in me, I guess. Then there was a more mundane moment when I started thinking about the lease on m

Today, the Edinburgh fundraising machine (which may be overselling it) saw donations pass the £2000 mark, which was splendid, although there's still a long way to go (says the eternal pessimist). One thing that should certainly help things along is an article about my predicament, which was published on the BBC News website this afternoon . It came about, following a conversation with the journalist Alex Pope after being alerted to the situation after seeing my story pop up on Twitter; proof once again of the positive power social media can have. We spoke with me firmly in the knowledge that nothing may come from our chat, but it was another metaphorical iron in the fire, so to speak. I can't help but wonder what my dad would have made of the attention levelled in his direction if you could remove the context. I'm pretty sure he would have been flattered, proud and pleased that it was helping me. I know he would be frustrated to have been part of the cause of my pr

Perhaps the most touching moment at my dad's funeral yesterday was when a member of his art club gave me this sketch of him she drew in the late 90s and had kept hold of all these years. Seeing his face when I opened the folder made me cry, predictably.  I know it's an obvious thing to say in the circumstances and being given the drawing underlined it, but I want him back. The last few years were overwhelmed by his illness and robbed us of time, both during and after it. The breaks in the clouds were few and far between and, while we did all we could to steer him through what we could control, we were ultimately defeated, which is a shit way to end the story, but then that's life. And now I'm trapped in a situation I know would have upset him deeply that I have to navigate in his memory and could do without the pressure on top of the grief. But that's a story for another time. There was a lot to treasure yesterday, despite the difficultness. Firstly, the

Perhaps the nicest moment at Thursday's Hitchin Mostly Comedy - aside from the round of applause when I dedicated the show to my dad - was when a woman in the audience stopped me as I sneaked in at the back mid-show to ask if she could give me a hug. It was a decidedly un-British thing to do, but the thought didn't go unappreciated and the conversation that followed was very nice. As well as saying kind, supportive things about losing my dad, she told me she'd been coming to the club since 2008 (so from the very beginning) and how much she loves it. She said her friends even have a Mostly Comedy WhatsApp group, which they use to discuss what shows they'd like to attend and who's paying for it. The fact people take the time to do this amazes me and reminds me our punters are a lovely bunch. I know losing a parent is such a commonality in life that being in my position isn't exactly special or unusual, but the combination of it, my Edinburgh situation and

The first Mostly Comedy since losing my dad went by without a hitch, though there was a strange sense of unreality and disconnect to the whole thing. Backstage with Hal Cruttenden and Simon Brodkin. The day itself was stressful, mainly because everything I had to do before I could leave for the Town Hall seemed to take forever, and the fact it was a Glynless show at a new venue meant I wanted to be there early enough to not be backfooted by life. That said, stress and Mostly Comedy go hand in hand, so it wouldn't have been right if I wasn't wound up. It's a good job our new sound guy Billy is so on-the-ball though as, when I arrived over an hour late, he was pretty much already set up. The holdup was partly due to a conflict between a sudden burst of inspiration for some topical material about the terrible state of UK politics and a laptop that wouldn't unfreeze for long enough for me to put a slideshow together; perhaps this was a case of art mirroring life. I&

It's no surprise I'd sooner not have a Mostly Comedy to contend with tomorrow - least of all one at a new venue without Glyn - but it is what it is. Part of the problem is I have no time to focus on what I'd like to be doing at the moment, but I never get around to it. Today was a case in point: I managed to fit a lot in, but barely started on the work that was important to me. Sadly, time spent thinking about being funny is almost nonexistent, which isn't helping things; In fact, I'm pretty sure I spent most of today staring at my laptop screen as I tried to make it work. At least Glyn and I managed to drop off most of our equipment at the Town Hall today for tomorrow, which was a preemptive strike. I'm hoping tomorrow will be as easy as possible as I can't fit much more into my head; I'm sure things will fall into place, but I just don't want it all to get out-of-hand; I could just do with a little space to breathe and think.

My mood's not particularly bright at the moment, which is not surprising considering what's been happening in my life recently. I'm feeling pretty defeated; there's so much to do and I don't want to do any of it. This isn't helped by the underlying sense of failure that goes with losing my dad, despite everything we did to try and keep him safe. I know there was no happy ending in store, though he might have still been here if we'd managed to get him to eat and drink or get out of bed; I know this was his responsibility too, but it's hard to keep sight of that when I was so instrumental in his care. On top of this, I'm finding it hard to get my head around Edinburgh. The financial situation's tough, though the crowdfunding's proving fruitful - as we speak, £1505 has been raised - but there's still far to go (as with Thursday's child). And the cost is just a fraction of the bigger picture when a show has to be written, rehearsed a

This afternoon I met with my lovely PR, Paul Sullivan, at The Ivy, ostensibly to discuss plans for pushing this year's Edinburgh show, but more than anything, to have a bit of a catch-up. Inevitably, much of the conversation centred on the loss of my dad and everything that's gone with it, to which Paul offered some sound advice. I'd like to be in a situation where it didn't dominate everything I do, though it's inevitable what with it being so recent. I just try to embrace it, particularly when I'm with someone who really gets it, as Paul does. While we didn't talk about the show massively - there's not much to talk about yet, to be honest - seeing him gave me a little burst of confidence about what lies ahead. I told him how I knew full well it won't be as well-rounded as last year's show, which I was quite proud of, but that doesn't mean it can't still be enjoyable if I keep it simple. I'll just call on some of the set pieces t

This evening, an email went out to our Mostly Comedy mailing list to plug my crowdfunding for Edinburgh situation, and within half an hour, we'd broken the £1000 barrier. I have to say this is pretty mindblowing and deeply encouraging, though of course there's still a long way to go. The response though has been so heartening; to think people care enough about my predicament to not only leave me words of encouragement - which is lovely - but to even dip into their pockets is quite something. I always assume much of the Mostly Comedy audience are only interested in seeing big names these days, but to throw a little kindness my way so willingly paints our audience base in such a good light; it restores my faith in humanity, which let's face it, was pretty non-existent prior to all of this. One thing I will do when I have a bit more time is to answer all the lovely messages people have posted when donating. Taking a solo show to Edinburgh is pretty isolating at the best of

After much mulling over, I set up a Just Giving page yesterday, in the hope of pulling together some of the money needed for this year's Edinburgh show. I'm still torn about what to do in the wake of all the difficult family stuff that's been going on, which is magnified by my Edinburgh stress, the loss of my dad and my PIP having stopped. If I'm honest, I don't feel I've picked myself up since my mood dropped soon after last year's Fringe and I haven't written anything of note since; I don't really know why that happened, other than potentially being a symbol of my frustration that I'd put together the show I was proudest of for it to sink without a trace (although this was more to do with the time of day I was on and the oversaturation of the Fringe than anything. After much internal and external debate, I set up the crowd-funding page yesterday afternoon; a number of people on Twitter suggested it as a possibility - something I'd alway

The latest sting-in-the-tail to my current financial/emotional situation sounds horribly mercenary: My dad's death has put his assets on hold. Being the legend he was, he was putting forward much of the money for my Edinburgh Fringe run, at least initially. Now I can't access it. Crap. I had a horrible feeling this would happen and tried my best to prevent it. In recent months, I helped him free money from his investments to pay for his care as well as making gifts to a few (to stop some of his estate being lost to investment tax) and paying for his funeral in advance, all with his approval. All along, I kept saying we should transfer a set amount into a designated Edinburgh account, so if the worst happened and his illness progressed, I'd be able to make a quick yes/no decision about whether to go ahead, safe in the knowledge that the funds would be available. Inevitably, I'm now in the far more awkward position of battling to get the money out. Edinbu

...and so Ephgrave's Fringe Promo Machine springs into action (with a cough and a splutter, and a quick emergency call to the RAC.)  See below for my answers to a few questions for potential use in a feature about the Fringe for Fest, to hopefully get some publicity for this year's EdFringe solo show, 'Niche'. Easily the most exciting part of writing this was discovering a little technological secret: in all the years I've had a Mac, I never knew I could make it read my work back to me, giving my prose a Matt Berry-like quality; suddenly, answering this Fringe Q&A got interesting. (Beneath the article you find a link to listen to my answer to the first question, with Berry intonations; I know it's essentially just Siri, but it still amused me.) David Ephgrave: Fest Q&A. Q: What are some of the past practices that the festivals have nothing to be proud about? The obvious way the Fringe continues to let itself down is by exploit

It's a measure of my constant overthinking that I'm worried I sounded too upbeat when on the phone to the funeral directors' today; from the tone and colour in my voice, he probably thinks I'm having the time of my life. "You haven't heard back from the vicar yet? Brilliant!" Like The Monkees, I was just trying to be friendly. I also happened to be on the bus, talking handsfree, so it was hard to judge how loud I needed to be to not sound weird. Having said that, however much I tried to not appear unhinged, I ended up pitching my replies like a T.I.E. performer speaking to a reception class; I may as well have been leading a conga line for all the enthusiasm I put into it. That's why any form of human interaction is to be strictly avoided, particularly if it's over the phone. It's also why I'll mentally prepare when I'm standing a cue waiting my turn; I'll mull over the various subtle variations on the theme that might come up

While listening to the news on Radio 2 today, I misheard "Romanians" as "Remainians"; in the interest of inclusive, pro-European multiculturalism, I think we should all adopt this. Like so many others, I hate the way we're being perceived on the world stage at the moment; while I'd like to hope most people would know the opinion presented likes of Brexit Party MEPs Nigel Farage (cunt) and Ann Widdecombe (anti-gay cunt) aren't representative of much of the UK, there's still plenty of narrow-minded behaviour to be found. The rise of rightwing politics both here and abroad is terrifying, mainly thanks to how quickly it seems people forget (or deny) what this behaviour spurred on in living memory. So, when it comes to flying the flag for other Remainiers, it's a relief when you realise they're still a fair few out there; not everyone's motivated by such questionable toss.

It such an obvious, shitty aspect of losing someone, but a week ago, I was talking to my dad, trying to convince him to eat and drink to build his strength, and now he's gone. My mum sent me a text at the exact moment he died last Sunday as I got the train back from visiting a friend in Northampton today. It was such a strange thing to comprehend as the week has flown, while also dragging emotionally. Yesterday, I logged into his doorbell camera from home and flashed the lights to make sure they were still working and it hit me again that the house is now empty; this is a strange thing to consider when it's been so busy recently. My dad's parents moved there not long after he was born in 1946. His mum died in the late 1980s when I was small, his dad in the late 1990s, & now he's gone too. The house always had movement until last week. And it's the last geographical link to my childhood that's still in the family. Also today, my mum and I went over for