mostly david ephgrave

Yesterday, I genuinely had to use an online calculator to work out my age. Don’t misconstrue this too much; I knew the ballpark figure, I just couldn’t remember the exact number, and rather than do the simple mathematics to work it out, like so many teenagers around me, I turned to the internet; why carry information in my head that’s only a Google search away? It’s still a little worrying; thank God I know Prime Minister’s name (much to my chagrin) and the current year, or I’d be making myself a doctor’s appointment. I think it’s safe to say this was a temporary mental blank and not something ominous. It’s not as if it was a shock to learn I’m in my late thirties, other than the sense that the time has gone so fast. Imagine how distressing it would have be for Cliff Richard; there aren't enough digits in our numerical system to document him. 

A quick flick through some of my recent blog posts has given me a confidence boost when it comes to writing new stand-up material. A downside to writing a blog every day is you quickly forget the content. It’s like satiating the Beast: you see an idea through to its resolution and then it slips from your mind. Thankfully, you’re left with the written evidence – but it takes a lot of sifting to find the bits that would work in a live setting. I like the thought of employing someone to do this sifting for me; partly for a second opinion but mainly due to laziness. There’s a lot to get through. It would be like employing a cleaner, chucking your house-keys at them and saying, “ You deal with it”. (If I did this, I’d be more polite.) The good thing about this form of creative amnesia is that what you’ve written will often take you by surprise. You see it with fresh eyes. Believe it or not, the odd line I reread this morning made me lau...

Today, I briefly forgot my own birthdate. I was arranging a meeting with a friend, trying to find a time that was good for both of us. We threw a few options back and forth as we flicked through our diaries, nearly reaching a stalemate. In a last-ditch attempt to resolve the issue, she suggested the fourteenth of May. It was only on checking my phone’s calendar that I realised it was of significance.  THIS IS THE BEGINNING OF THE END. At least it had come up out of context. Its personal import wasn’t at the forefront of my mind. It’s still a concern; if there’s one 365 th of the average Earth’s orbit I’d expect to be ingrained on my memory it’s this. I shouldn’t need a device to remind me. Isn’t this the sort of thing you’re meant to look out for? I hope it’s not a sign of decline. It’s more likely a result of tiredness: my brain has been fried by writing. Whatever the reason, I may invest in a Dymo Labeller. I’ll also buy a ...