mostly david ephgrave

A poster in a pub toilet, promising a set from 'one of the best Freddie Mercury tribute acts in the country' for a ticket price of £2 is either hyperbolic to-the-extreme or one hell of a loss-leader. It's not that I'm knocking them for providing a competitively priced night out - my comedy club proves I'm all-for-it - but there's a lot to be said for promoting your event accurately; to offer admission for less than a pint is to shoot yourself in the foot, metaphorically speaking, however cheap your overheads. And if the performer puts in the performance of a lifetime for just two quid, imagine what they'd do for £4.50. Not to mention how awkward it would be to watch such a flamboyant tribute in a low-ceilinged public bar; it doesn't bear thinking about. Imagine if he caught your eye; I'd be doing everything I could to swallow my own tongue as protection. And how would he tackle Barcelona if it's in the set? Would he perform it with a  Mo...

I was once indirectly involved in a scam over a Gibson SG copy. One of them. I was fourteen and still at school. While I didn’t initiate the racket (noise pun) I certainly benefited from it. I was a criminal by association. My hands were dirty. This wasn’t due to a scuffed fretboard.  The culprit was Rich, my band’s lead guitarist. He’d heard that another student, Colin, was throwing away his electric. Colin evidently wasn’t familiar with its rudimentary mechanics. Why? Because he thought breaking a string rendered it worthless. The fact he believed this clears my conscience. I mean, come on . If that were the case, every guitarist would be constantly on edge. They’d never take a solo, for fear they’d come out the other side needing to shell out another six hundred quid (assuming they went for a low-end model). Guitar breaks would become strictly pedestrian. String-bending would be a thing of the past. Colin’s ignorance enab...

I’ve got a cracking scam going with my newsagent, where he keeps misreading the price of my paper as 60p. I should probably feel guilty about it, but I don’t. I’ve not done anything to deliberately mislead him. The responsibility falls squarely on the head of the graphic designer. I’m merely an accessory after the fact. I’m currently getting my news at 57% less than the going rate and it feels amazing . Every time I join the queue I wonder if today’s the day when my number will finally be up. "Surely he’ll spot it this time", I think to myself. It’s been going on for weeks; months, even. You'd think he’d pick up on my guilt instinctively, like a dog smelling fear on a human. Sometimes I put the paper on the counter so it rests dangerously close to the price-scanner. It’s like playing chicken with myself; purposely edging closer to the moment when I am eventually found out. He never takes the bait; as far as he’s conce...