mostly david ephgrave

The other day my tiny mind was blown when I learnt that Bob Marley played Hitchin Town Hall in 1973. You know: Bob Marley . The Bob Marley; the reggae ICON - and the sort of chap no-one on this planet should ever have come into contact with, because he surely wasn’t ever real - had a vague awareness of Brand Street in Hitchin, having once stepped out of a van and through the stage door of the venue with the worst acoustics in town; God knows how his band kept track of the second and fourth beat of every bar in there . It just doesn’t seem right; in fact it’s practically unfathomable. Even a glance at his tour itinerary reveals a collection of more likely places he could have played, even in his early career; he played London's Speakeasy the day before, for Christ's sake. There are only 33,350 people living in Hitchin today, so there must have been fewer then, and what proportion of them were into reggae?  The stupid thing is, I...

A woman on the bus today had Happy Birthday as her ringtone. I’m referring to the original, rather than Stevie Wonder’s 1981 UK Top Ten hit. That would have been a less unusual choice. When her mobile went off, everybody turned around to look. We probably all thought the same thing: “Is it your birthday today?”; if it was, did she need to signpost it to total strangers? There is, of course, a more depressing scenario. Perhaps it was meant to remind to her friends and family. Had she spent all morning hoping for a card or some acknowledgement, then changed her ringtone in a last ditch attempt? Imagine the guilt felt by her nearest and dearest when the penny dropped. It's possible that someone sneakily changed it as a birthday surprise. I prefer that thought. Or maybe she just likes the tune. If so, that's just weird.

If people saw how much I've got into the Stevie Wonder songs I’ve been listening to this week while getting ready, they’d laugh their arses off. That isn’t an exaggeration. Anyone watching would find my pathetic attempts at funky dancing so funny that the fleshy cheeks either side of their rectum would come clean off. The anus would remain intact, but the outer area – the bum cushion, if you like – would fall to the floor, or be rocking back and forth on the chair if they'd just got up from sitting down. And were trouserless. (Sorry for that.) Most of my enthusiastic moves to the now not-so-Little Stevie have taken place in the bathroom. This compounds the embarrassment. Picture me in a towel, with 'I Wish' blaring from my BlackBerry (not a euphemism), boogying away – yes, boogying – and then WIPE IT FROM YOUR MIND.   I’d forgotten how much I loved his work. I can’t get enough. His singing is effortless, his range never-ending, and his ability ...