mostly david ephgrave

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

If there's one thing that brings me joy, it's watching my dog shoot around the garden. It's simple, uncluttered enjoyment for him and me. As a breed with poor recall, I never let him off the lead on a walk, but in the garden, he's free. He zips about like a nutter while I chase him, and by the time he's reached his limit, if you stand by him, you can literally hear his heart beating; it can't be healthy. The fact my dad loved seeing it too adds to the moment. The first time I brought Elwood over, he demonstrated his version of warp speed to my dad's delight. "You couldn't have a better dog" was how he put it, and Elwood's long since proved him right; he's a shaft of pure sunlight bursting past the bad bits. I'm writing this in the garden as we speak, watching Elwood sniff the air on a windswept day. Behind him, the only daffodil to break through the earth yawns open like a tiny, floral firework. The fact there's just one is appr

How do you create a new narrative when your old one's so heavily ingrained and difficult events have pushed it to the surface? That's the question I ask myself this afternoon as I sit in front of a blank computer screen, trying to be productive. It's something I ask myself often, both directly and indirectly. I know I'm inclined to be a hard taskmaster and am prone to believe I'm somehow failing, but how can I stop my internal monologue from stymying me? It doesn't help that I've been frequently criticised by a relative who acts beyond criticism - particularly from me - irrespective of their behaviour. I was raised in a toxic household with guilt projected onto me and often blindsided by unexpected accusations that back footed me into apologies before I had time to consider whether they were necessary. In hindsight, I see that a lot weren't, and I was being subtly manipulated by someone committed to overbearing me, but it's still hard to dial down th

Like so many people right now, my future looks like a massive gaudy question mark. We've now passed a year since Mostly Comedy's last show and, while there's scope for potentially reopening in the Autumn (if Boris' plans are to be believed), it's hard to know when to commit to booking a line-up. This also depends on the venue upping their provisional capacity for the gig to go ahead. On top of this, I'm trying to sell my flat before the lease extension deadline hits in May and I have to find a lot of money to pay for it myself. So much of the past two years has been taken up with resolving the problems behind buying my mum out of my dad's house that I've had little mental space for the creativity my job depends on, plus my longstanding financial fears have been gone through the roof: I used to worry about finding a few thousand to clear my debt or fund Edinburgh...but now, I'm trying to find tens-to-hundreds of thousands while my work's at a stan