mostly david ephgrave

Tonight, I had the uncomfortable experience of eating a cod fillet next to a fish tank.  I was dining alone in a restaurant in Brighton before a gig, and hadn't considered where I was sitting until after I'd chosen my main course. Goldfish, catfish and koi swam within my eye line, judging me for my dietary preferences; no doubt hating me for my lifestyle choice. Being pescatarian means nothing when you could still be chowing down on someone's mum or dad.  To add insult to injury, I was wearing a shirt with pictures of fish on it. If anyone noticed, they'd have thought I was obsessed; not content with eating them, when I can wear them and watch them swim by me as well The gig was fun. It was in a tiny room below a pub, which was more like a Moroccan opium den than a comedy venue - and all the better for it. See below for a picture of the stage (Rowley Birkin QC / Ronnie Corbett out of shot). Surrounded by seating. ...

I just cooked some salmon for my dad. This shouldn’t have felt like a momentous occasion, but it did. A fanfare would have been appropriate. The meal was so successful. even the fish might have let out a little cheer - if it wasn’t dead and had vocal cords, that is. Making food for my dad hasn’t always been triumphant. We've had a chequered culinary past. The worst instance was during my early teens, when he taught me how to fry an egg. It was going well until I attempted to slide it from the pan onto the plate. A combination of stress and lack of confidence caused the egg to disappear down the paper-thin gap between the oven and the kitchen wall. It was never seen again. (We laughed a lot .) Thankfully, no part of today’s meal went astray. The transition from baking tray to plate was textbook. My dad was impressed by the results. I think I may finally exorcised the demon of the missing egg. Perhaps it'll be discover...

Recently, I caught the train into Central London with the express purpose of holding a fish.  I walked to my local station, bought a peak-time Travelcard (£31.00), took the train to King’s Cross and then the tube to Farringdon, located the right address, pressed the buzzer by an unmarked door, walked up four or five flights of stairs, held the fish (a mackerel) - and then reversed all of the above (minus buzzer and Travelcard) until I was back where I started. All-in-all it took about two hours, and the key moment – the fish moment – was filmed for posterity. Why? I was after a job, that's why. I've recently signed with a new agent who specifically represents me for commercial castings. As a result, for the first time in about nine years, I’m often to be found trudging my way into town with a similar objective to this dangling of a mackerel in front of a high-definition camera. Imagine the detail it must have captured. All those shiny, tessellating scales...