mostly david ephgrave

There's a stretch of raised kerb on a bend near where I live that makes me think of my nan (because nothing makes me reminisce about dead relatives more than roadside brickwork). Seeing it ignites a childhood memory of her watching me balance on it like a tightrope walker whenever we went to the post office. It wasn't exactly the best way to traverse a busy road, though health and safety was a different beast in the 1980s. But I know she kept an eye on me. She was the prototypical nan whose warm presence I can still feel even though she died in 1987. And I have a surprising amount of memories involving her when you consider they all happened before I was six. She would babysit me when my parents went to White Hart Lane to watch Spurs, which often involved a trip to the local shop. We took that short walk frequently.  We'd sometimes visit the nearby playground on the way back, where there was a climbing frame shaped like a spider that's still in action to this day. And w

Tonight, I watched Paul McCartney & Paul Muldoon discuss their new book 'The Lyrics: 1956 to the Present' with journalist Samira Ahmed at Royal Festival Hall. A picture from tonight’s show, courtesy of Macca’s Instagram.  While I've visited the iconic venue several times in the interim, the last show I saw there was Brian Wilson's live premiere of the lost Beach Boys album 'Smile' in 2004. Something about 1960s bassists clearly gets me out of the house. Tonight's show was very different but no less entertaining. Macca was engaging and happy to let the conversation flow where it went, which included the odd diversion from his stock responses. The chat was more Beatle-heavy than I'd have liked, but that's just me. And being a former member of the world's biggest band does tend to overshadow things. Tonight was the first show I've attended since the pandemic hit, besides September's Mostly Comedy obviously. I wore my mask on public trans

A month since my last blog about September's Hitchin Mostly Comedy , we've nearly reached the limit of what we can do to keep the club afloat, which is pretty inevitable in the current climate. A video still of Doggett & Ephgrave performing at the first Hitchin Mostly Comedy (23.10.08) The sad thing is sales for October's gig had improved considerably in the week after our first show back. It was probably the simple fact that a gig went ahead after so many cancellations since Covid hit that had reinstilled people's confidence. But seven days later, in classic sod's law style, the faeces hit the air-cooling device. The main act pulled out for a better-paid gig and, because the other comic originally scheduled to appear had sadly passed away, the complete change to our line-up put us in a situation when we'd have to at least offer refunds to ticketholders first. Doggett & Ephgrave interview Phil Cornwell (far left) at the last Hitchin Mostly Comedy (23.09.

Yesterday, controversially, was the first day in nineteen months with a Mostly Comedy at the end of it, which is the longest gap between gigs in our nearly thirteen-year history. Sharing a showbiz stance with Phil Cornwell. It's fair to say we had no idea how long we'd be closed when we cancelled our show planned for March 2020. If anything, we felt we might be being over-cautious. But little did we know what lay ahead. And while that still applies today, to an extent, it was at least good to take baby steps towards pre-pandemic normality. Now, we just need public interest and confidence to build to the point that we start to pull in enough punters to make a profit while being as Covid-secure as possible. For the most part, the show was like putting on a pair of comfy shoes once we got past a couple of tech issues which meant we opened late. While we only started approximately fifteen minutes after our advertised kickoff, the mad dash to the end of our soundcheck left me feelin

I was sad to stumble across the news on Twitter that Lynn Ruth Miller - who up to then was the world's oldest working stand-up - passed away last week. Interviewing Lynn Ruth Miller for More Than Mostly Comedy (13.12.20) I'd only been talking to her via email in July when we rescheduled Mostly Comedy's reopening to September and moved her next appearance at the club to next month as a result. But sadly, that lineup wasn't to be. She was More Than Mostly Comedy's penultimate guest  back in December, and what an eye-opening it was. It's no wonder she made the Telegraph's obituary section at the weekend as she practically squeezed four lifetimes into one. And she was a picture of resilience, having picked herself up more times than a pin in a bowling alley. It sounds like a stock phrase, but she was truly inspirational, and the comedy world is markedly emptier and less colourful in her absence. Not to mention younger. It's not often you share a bill with so

Today, I took the opportunity for a rare tour of Abbey Road Studios as a belated 40th birthday treat. And while I anticipated it would be emotional standing in the rooms where so much magic was committed to tape, I still wasn't quite prepared for the visceral impact. Not the first long-haired yob to enter the building. It's not just its connection to the Beatles that makes it such an extraordinary place. No other building on the planet has produced so much music that's woven into our collective consciousness. It's the invisible location of countless performances we know so well that often touch us deep in our soul, and the zebra crossing outside makes it easy to arrive on foot. Though whether you choose to wear shoes is up to you. My arrival. I first visited that pedestrian landmark in 1996ish as a teenager with my guitarist friend, Rich. I'd been desperate to go there for years and would drop hints about it whenever I was in London for something touristy. I've

I married my wife seven years ago today. Well, that's not strictly true as she wasn't my wife when I married her. Though as soon as we got married, she was. There were split seconds between being single and betrothed, but those tiny increments would be vital when say, opening a joint bank account or taking out a mortgage. And you've got to get that shit right. Being married has only brought good. It strengthened our relationship while reassuring me that there's someone on my side when I lose faith. It's no coincidence that I often play with my wedding ring when I'm nervous or anxious. It's a physical aide-memoire of our partnership, which started sixteen years ago and has only grown with time. In many ways, that's my proudest achievement and the best thing in my life (though my automatic cigarette-rolling machine comes in at second place; that thing's witchcraft, I tell you). And how could we not be the perfect team when our conjoined surnames make t

I'm feeling tense about the Government's proposed lifting of all COVID-19 restrictions in ten days. While I accept how difficult it is to find the sweet spot between balancing case numbers, the percentage of people already vaccinated, seasonal advantage and the economy, to choose now seems tenuous, particularly when not everyone's had their second dose. And to remove mandatory mask-wearing at the same time is just reckless. Surely keeping them a little longer is the perfect bridge between total lockdown and normality? People who take issue with wearing masks except for the medically exempt should grow up, frankly. I mean, seriously, what's the problem? It's an act of kindness to anyone with a compromised immune system. Imagine taking a packed bus ride to a chemotherapy appointment in fear of the highly transmissible delta variant. Wouldn't you feel safer if nearly everyone around you wore a mask? Catching the virus is still a matter of life or death. Should avo

It's common sense really, but today I felt the value of starting the day positively. I took the dog out first thing - well, what classes as first thing for me - which I do most weekdays and, despite the rain, we both enjoyed it. The only downside to dog-walking is I often find myself thinking about difficult conversations from the past that still niggle. It's the mental equivalent to coming up with the perfect witty retort days later when the moment's passed. I try to catch my rumination when I notice it and actively change the subject as I know it's unhelpful. I'm getting better at this, though it's an inexact science. While it's good to take the dog out, deciding to play the drums as soon as I got home was the real win. Changes in my routine since lockdown has seen me slow down a bit and put on weight I'd like to shift, but it's always difficult to find the right exercise to suit my back problems and - let's be honest - lethargy. Old Me spent m

For a long time, I've had a complex about giving presents. I often leave gift shopping until the absolute last minute, not because I'm lazy but for fear that I'll choose something that isn't good enough and cause offence. I get extremely anxious about it and second-guess my judgment. I can trace this paranoia to two events. One Mother's Day when I was twelve or thirteen, I decided to write a song for my mum and record it on my four-track recorder so she could have a nice version to keep. I spent a few days methodically preparing a demo, recording guitar parts and then overdubbing vocals and percussion. It wasn't my finest work, but I took the time to get it right. I can still remember the moment I played it to her. We were in my bedroom when I gave her a card and the tape. As she ripped open the package to reveal the cassette, I felt tense. I put it into my Hi-Fi and we listened in silence. Suddenly, the whole idea felt wrong. She looked irritable. And her respo

My main focus for the past few days has been organising and promoting the on-sale dates for July's proposed return of Hitchin Mostly Comedy (provided the Delta COVID variant doesn't keep us on ice) and editing the second and third episodes of The McCartney McAlphabet. Unsurprisingly, sales for Mostly have been cautious. I suspect they'll pick up once we know the Government's plans for 21st June onwards, but even bearing that in mind, the low take-up is concerning. I worry our seventeen-month closure could play havoc with a momentum we may never get back. And while we're prepared for our return to be a slow build, there's only so much we can juggle low figures when the club's not a cheap thing to run, and one too many loss-leaders will spell closure for us. (What a happy cheery chap I am.) The podcast, however, is lots of fun. Our first two episodes are now up , with number three being edited and four at planning stages. I'm really happy with how the fir

The other day, I dreamt about my dad, who passed away a little over two years ago. These dreams don't happen too often, but when they do, it can be difficult. It wasn't until I woke up that I remembered he was gone. In it, I'd bumped into him in a shop like Wilkinson, where he was browsing with a friend. I was in a bit of a hurry so it was more of a quick hello than anything. I may even have been a little brusque because I needed to get away. It was as I'd left the shop that I remembered there was something important I needed to tell him, but on turning back, I found I could barely lift my legs. The more I tried, the less I moved. I knew if I didn't hurry, he'd be gone, but it made no difference. It was like swimming against the tide. When I woke up, sadness hit me. The mundanity of the situation in the dream was bittersweet. I felt guilty for being irritable even though it wasn't real. It's not hard to decipher the meaning of my jelly legs. The prison o

I attended Katie Coxall's funeral online today and was glad to be a part of it. She died suddenly of cancer on 7th May at just fifty and had such vibrant energy it's hard to process she's gone. Just the loss of her on Twitter is akin to that of a Trump-like silence, only shit. And that's as far as the two can be compared in the same sentence. Katie's tweets had an intelligent bluntness the Great Orange One could only dream of (if a brain that compromised can even dream in the first place). Katie's talent was as vast and keen-eyed as her dark sense of humour. She was a creature of many hats (if creatures wear hats): an inspired illustrator with an instantly recognisable and brilliantly unique style, who was also a fantastic comic poet. Her sets at Mostly Comedy as mushybees back in the day were tear-streamingly funny. An audience member would hold a large pad aloft and turn the pages at her instruction to reveal a macabre illustration of a celebrity to which Kati

We recorded our first More Than Mostly Comedy interview of 2021 last night with James Acaster, pulling the largest number of live viewers of a Zoom show to date. It's mad how far James' reach has extended since we first met at our second-ever Mostly back in October 2008. That said, if anyone from those days was going far it was him. He was a one-off from the start. While I get the impression he's a tough self-critic and would no doubt dismiss those early sets out of hand, his distinctive and now much-imitated delivery was there already. That unique turn-of-phrase, which must just be him, was well-established, as was his slightly formal dress sense. I've never known a chap his age own so many pairs of corduroys. (Says the man who just used the word, 'chap'.) What's nice is he's remained loyal to the club, despite his stellar career leaps, often returning when he can. So when I asked if he'd be free for an onstage interview in the autumn, and he wasn&

I may have just received my best review. "Three stars." How's about that then, ladies? You heard it here first. Nothing abnormal about my internal beanbags. And they're not my words, they're the words of a professional radiologist. Just think how many testicles they've observed in the course of their career, the lucky buggers. And my pair get top marks. Well, when it comes to normality at least. Well done me. Those are nine words I'd happily see scrawled on the wall of a public toilet referring to me, even though I'd admit to being surprised by the formality. It's not the place you'd expect such a dry tone to be in evidence. Though I suppose it depends on where the toilet is. I'm sure you get a higher class of graffiti than usual in the gents' at Trinity College, for example. It's worth clarifying I didn't get this write-up out of the blue. Last week, I had an ultrasound after noticing a possible lump. Ever since I convinced my

It's with no small fanfare - or at least with a faint anal parp - that the first episode of 'The McCartney McAlphabet' is out. I'm proud of it and am looking forward to doing more. The second episode's already in the can (not that there is a can) and needs editing, but it's good to at least have the show up and running instead of just a load of social media accounts with no product to push. And aside from a few syncing problems I had when I putting our conversation together, making it was an easy process. Recording our chat was fun and comes over well; as I've mentioned, the topic's not something I have to stretch to discuss and the whole thing's a labour of love. All that's left now is the hope people enjoy it. It's surprising how positive the online Beatles community have been. We've only had encouraging comments on the concept so far and I hope the content will live up to this. As with Doctor Who, I know that Beatles fans can be exact

Fuck me, I'm forty. The fateful day. The milestone's significant and inevitably a moment for reflection. It seems like only yesterday I was celebrating my thirtieth while on tour in the Netherlands and suddenly I'm a step closer to what's commonly regarded as middle-age...if I'm not there already. And all those gits who say "Life begins at forty" are conspicuous in their absence. I may speak to Citizen's Advice about a recount. Joking aside, I see my fortieth as a positive chance to sink more comfortably into my skin. For much of my life, I questioned my self-worth to the point that it made me unwell. The events of my childhood scarred me mentally and left me riddled with self-doubt and ill-equipped for a happy adulthood. The kid I could have been was drowned out by the role forced upon me and it crippled my progress. And so much energy was consumed in pretending I was okay when I wasn't. I had to bury the truth at all costs. It didn't matter h

Today was my aunt's funeral. The first word that springs to mind when I think of her is "kind". She loved her family to bits and they doted on her. She married my dad's brother in 1965 and it was clear they loved each other inside out. And even though I saw her less as the years went by, she always made me feel at ease at family events. And as the woman who's put up with a male Ephgrave the longest, statistically speaking, she deserved a medal (he says in jest). The service itself was lovely. She'd played an active part in its planning, which made it feel more intimate. COVID restrictions meant only thirty people could be there, which must sting, but I was glad to be among them. And it was good to see my uncle and my cousins even if it was in the worst circumstances; it always strikes me how the Ephgraves have a look and sound about them, with shades of my nan and grandfather - and of course my dad - on every face. Inevitably, my thoughts turned to him today.

Yesterday, I found myself extolling the virtues of Macca's solo career to Mark Dolan on his drivetime show on talkRadio, after Royal Mail announced the imminent release of a set of post-Beatle McCartney themed stamps earlier that day. That's what happens when Paul Gambaccini has prior commitments. Chatting to Mark Dolan on talkRadio (06.05.21) It came about by chance after Mark dropped me a Twitter DM in the morning to see if I might be free to do it, having clocked the promotional posts for the McCartney McAlphabet this past few weeks. It just goes to show how you never know who's got their eye on you and will at least act as a spot of gentle promotion for the show. It also provided the ego boost of having Dolan bill me as a Beatles "Expert" which I'll happily accept in place of payment. Recording episode #1 with Clary Saddler. As for the podcast itself, I'm loving being a part of it. We've recorded the first two episodes now and I'm editing the f

Wearing a mask while a GP examined my gentleman's area last week made me feel positively coquettish. There's a lot to be said for maintaining a sense of mystery. It's good to keep a little something back. Not your scrotum though, as that's public property, and should take the role of the face as a man's most identifying feature  in a mask-wearing pandemic  (though less of the "little something", thank you very much). It's just a more extreme version of the many awkward micro-moments provoked by the current circumstances (like your glasses steaming up because you're wearing a mask writ large). The doctor and I were the only two attendees of the world's most demeaning masquerade ball with the ball in question the most out-in-the-open part. The fact the doctor was a junior one at least leant a sense of learning to proceedings with me proud to assist their education, though I'm not sure if the chaperone also in the room was there for the GP or

Planning Clary Saddler's and my new Paul McCartney-themed podcast The McCartney McAlphabet (which we start recording tomorrow) is proving to be a pleasant distraction from the norm. Artwork for the podcast, using a picture I took myself, no less (back when Paul didn't have a face). It helps that it's a subject I've engrossed myself in for a good thirty years, so I'd like to think finding something to talk about shouldn't be too much of a stretch. That said, I'm still slightly worried that I haven't done enough homework. The fact two of us are doing it inevitably brings on a form of "Are we doing Christmas presents this year?"-style panic. What if she's done reams of nuanced research and all I've got is a post-it note with "He plays bass" written on it? I think it's something we need to start to find out what needs doing. Most importantly it should be fun. Just the thought of a new project is exciting. I haven't looked

The preparatory work I've done this week for my forthcoming McCartney podcast has been a pleasant diversion from my problems and has given me a glimpse of something to enjoy in the months ahead. I'm looking forward to starting to record it. It will ultimately be a slight flex of my creative muscles that I could do with. I want to have fun with it and find a way out of the personal mire of the past two years. As well as sharing notes for the first few episodes with my Macca conspirator Clary Saddler, I've also finished editing the Isy Suttie instalment of Glyn's and my More Than Mostly Comedy Podcast, which I'd abandoned for a few months due to a technical problem with the audio files that I've since resolved on a clear head. And the outcome is an interesting and funny conversation. And once I've edited our interviews with Lucy Porter and Lynn Ruth Miller, I'll be up to date and ready to turn my head to all things Macca. Hopefully, it will act as a palate

I chatted with a friend today about a Paul McCartney podcast we're planning. The idea's all part of my kick to get some new projects going this year with different people to re-energise myself creatively and keep myself busy. Too much of what I do feels like a trapped narrative full of fatigue and resentment. And I recognise you sometimes need to shake out the metaphorical dustsheets to make space for something new. I currently have three new podcast ideas I'm keen to get going, with two - one on Macca and one on narcissistic abuse - about topics important to me, albeit for different reasons. Like Glyn's and my More Than Mostly Comedy Podcast, you need a passion for a subject for it to bear fruit, plus the depth of knowledge my collaborators and I already have on the subjects will, in theory, make putting together something of substance pretty easy. And the McCartney one would be a labour of love full of positivity on a theme I'm very confident about, which is half

From September 2010, every month for two years, Glyn and I would carry four 4.5' square rostra 176 yards from Glyn's dad's chip shop to Mostly Comedy's then-venue The Croft before/after each gig, in all weathers, for a step in the venue floor to render them invisible when we put them in place. It was an utter ballache. Nine years on, these chunky wooden bastards still bug me. The Croft's stage was hardly the Palladium. And when I say "all-weathers", I genuinely mean all-weathers. The worst was snow, although it's not like a sunny day made it any more enjoyable. Not only were the rostra heavy, but they were also very cumbersome. They were wide and a nightmare to keep purchase; it was like holding a butter-coated tombstone with clammy hands. Navigating from A to B was akin to a scene from the Eric Sykes / Tommy Cooper film The Plank with equal slapstick; my knuckles practically dragged along the floor at the end of Orangutan-like arms by the end of our j

There's a real fragility to my life at the moment as I carefully navigate the depressive trough I find myself in. It's so hard to express the damage a narcissist does to you. They present themselves as guiltless, while they're endlessly hypercritical of you. They're cruel, bitter, dishonest people who feel they owe you nothing and are incapable of processing criticism, however justified, without blowing up like a petulant child. And they see every interaction as something to win. It's all black or white with no shades of grey, so you're either toeing the line or a villain. And they'll lie without flinching and then seem to forget the difference between fantasy and reality in an instant. I read a tweet the other day that hammered home the problem I face: (Link to the original tweet.) That's my situation in a nutshell. My mother shows little remorse for the damage caused by raising me in such a toxic atmosphere and expecting me to conceal it. Her likely re

I've had a small idea for a new podcast over the past few days that I may pursue, though I'm not entirely sure the best way to go about it. My main issue is who I should approach with it. I'd go to Glyn with the concept - partly as having a new project could breathe new life into our act - but I don't think it's necessarily suited to him even if it would ultimately be the most likely route to become a reality. There's no substitute for the shorthand that comes with years of collaboration, but if I'm honest, I feel like we may have run our course when it comes to brand new output. And I'd like to enter into any future joint projects with equal enthusiasm and a fresh slate. The other person I have in mind is probably more suited to it anyway, and we've talked for years about working together more directly. And while he's not a performer per se, he'd probably be more available and keener. So it's pretty much a no-brainer. And it's not li