mostly david ephgrave

These days, I’m unable to drink alcohol to excess - or at all, it seems. Last night, I met my friend Rob for a long overdue catch-up at our once-regular haunt, The Spice of Life in Soho. Whenever we used to rehearse for the Buddy Holly show, Glad All Over, or whichever gig we were working on, we’d factor in a drink (or three) afterwards. It was an unwritten rule. Invariably, I’d head home far later than intended, with my body on the outside of a fair share of Guinness. Despite my recklessness, I’d cope with this alcoholic intake. It was a good way to unwind from the day’s work, which was often spent in the shittiest of shit rehearsal studios. Yesterday, in a change to the usual pattern, I only had two pints – yet despite drinking next-to-nothing, I’ve spent the the day feeling like I'm recovering from a ten-hour stint on a fairground rotor. It was worth the nausea. It’s always nice to see Rob. We seldom get the chance to meet these days, which is a shame. He’s a good ...