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...

I’m pleased to report all’s still going well with getting our dog used to his new life with us. We’re very fortunate he’s so good-natured as if he weren’t it might have given our ineptitude away. It’s like those films where the downtrodden masses suddenly realise they outnumber their aggressor and take over the planet, only in dog form; we pray Elwood doesn’t cotton onto the fact he’s massive and we’re puny or someone will wind up kicking down our front door in years to come to find our skeletons reclaimed as dog treats. (Sleep well, children.) Today, I took him out for a good hour-long walk, which he seemed to appreciate, though it proved stressful at times because I hadn’t planned a route, so I found myself having to negotiate tight spots and steer him away from some chavvy looking gardens. This is the downside to him being so massive: he’s like the canine equivalent to a lorry with a long vehicle sign at the tail-end of it; you sometimes...

My dad told me today that my nan would have been 100 this weekend if she were still alive.  This seems hard to fathom; it certainly beats my personal milestone of turning 35. My nan was a lot of fun and we were very close. I have quite a few vivid memories of her, despite her passing away when I was very young. I used to follow her around her house and she used dote on me and encourage my creative whims. I was a big fan of Rod Hull & Emu at the time and desperately wanted an emu of my own (in a puppet sense), so she helped me make one, using a sparkly sequined blouse for the body and a pair of tights for the neck and head. It was surprisingly effective despite our limited means, and did the trick until my parents tracked down a proper puppet, which I think came from a friend (Bernie Clifton?). She also helped me finish off all of the chocolates from my advent calender in just one sitting; she was a bad, yet playful influence.  It's all about anniversaries at the moment....

The first woman I saw in underwear was Grotbags from Emu’s All-Live Pink Windmill Show. It wasn’t a sexual situation. I was too young for that. It was also completely accidental. There’s no need to contact Operation Yewtree on my (or her) behalf. I was a huge fan of Rod Hull as a child. So much so that I had my own Emu. By this, I mean I owned the puppet; an outsized bird was not an appropriate pet to keep in a modest semi-detached house in Stevenage. My love of The Pink Windmill Show was all encompassing. I was desperate to see Emu in person, ideally whilst nestled in the armpit of my favourite puppeteer*. When he came to The Gordon Craig Theatre my mum got us tickets. It was one of my first gigs and I loved it.  (Little did I know I was about to see more than I'd bargained for.) I was a member of the theatre’s drama club and spent a lot of time backstage. So it was that, during a break in our session later that week, I happ...