mostly david ephgrave

In the interest of tying up a few loose ends related to my recent Edinburgh Fringe adventures, I thought I'd share videos of two shocking events that occurred there. (Brace yourselves.) The first documents a washing machine with musical aspirations. View this post on Instagram A post shared by David Ephgrave (@ephgraveseyeview) The second shows at least one way my digs stuck the knife in. View this post on Instagram A post shared by David Ephgrave (@ephgraveseyeview) Popcorn, anyone?

Yesterday, I put down the deposit for my Edinburgh digs, thus setting in stone the fact I’m doing the Fringe Festival solo for the second year running. I’ve known with a degree of certainty for a week or so, though if I’m honest, it was highly unlikely I wouldn’t have gone again. I’d feel I was losing a year if I didn’t, and while in an ideal world Doggett & Ephgrave would be there too, with me doing a solo show as a less pressured side project, that isn’t feasible at the moment; I may as well wave our flag in the meantime, and keep a hand in for both of us. The good thing is, I’ve engendered it so most of the stuff that worked for me last time will be the same again; I’ve booked the same flat I stayed in last year, and the same venue at the same time slot. I considered opting for a later start-time, but on balance, I’m not sure I would have gained a lot for the increased cost; I’d sooner spend the money on good PR and flyerers (who did sterlin...

I bet you didn't start your day by being threatened by a man from Scottish Gas. At just after 9 o’clock, I lifted the receiver on the security door at my digs to answer the doorbell. “Hello?” I said. Nothing. “Hello?” I repeated. Still nothing. I would have hung up, but as I missed the post the other day, I thought I’d take the risk and buzz the culprit in. A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. I opened it, to reveal a guy in blue overalls on the other side. “I’m here from Scottish Gas and I need to change your meter.” I started trying to explain to him that I wasn’t the long-term tenant or the property owner and therefore couldn’t authorise the work, when he spotted the meter above me in the hallway. Before I could finish my sentence, he’d crossed the threshold without my permission and was inside the flat. He told me that if I didn't let him do the work, he’d call the police. I explained ...

Today’s been a long, yet productive day. It started with me rushing to get ready in time to be given a lift to Hitchin Station by my mum this morning to meet the 8:19 train to Peterborough (like 'The 8:15 from Manchester', only less of a Nineties kids’ TV affair). Glyn and I have always said we’d one day like to travel to the festival by train, rather than making our way up in a van or people-carrier that’s stocked up to the brim with props, luggage and the rest. So it was today for the first time for me, though I still had a large suitcase, a satchel and a couple of plastic bags to contend with. Even this was only possible after sending a suitcase full of electrical equipment, a projector screen and a stand in three separate packages couriered by two different companies; at time of going to press, the projector stand has arrived, with the other two parcels set to come tomorrow, all being well. (…and by “all being well” I mean, “Without them, there's no show....