Little Acts of Kindness.

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 my more recent honesty about my mental health (and my battle to have my Personal Independence Payment reinstated) seem to have created a perfect storm of sympathy that I really appreciate. The number of people who've donated to my JustGiving page and amount already given is a symbol of the care being levelled in my direction, which I'm trying to use as a cushion to get me through my problems. Of course, it doesn't take them away - and I'm currently embroiled in a crisis interlinked with everything that threatens to overwhelm my grief - but the best thing I can do is see the good that comes from all these acts of kindness, and use my awareness of this to give me strength.

Yesterday, I sketched out the eulogy I intend to give at my dad's funeral next week and, while I feel it's what I'd like to express and what he'd appreciate, I'm worried I'll suddenly be faced with the enormity of losing him when I start speaking. The best way to protect myself is to know it's my duty to do his love and support justice. This is hard when it's so easy for little triggers to set me off. For example, the other day my wife sent me a photograph she'd taken of one of his paintings, to be included in his order of service. Of all my dad's work, it's the one I associate with him the most. A version of it was up in my childhood home and this one's up in his house, in the room he died in.

Seeing it made me burst into tears. God, I miss him.

Watercolour by Barry Ephgrave.

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