mostly david ephgrave

Today I was question master for a pub quiz that took place, not in an actual pub, but online, amongst a few friends and family. I'm usually reluctant to take part in such things, more through anxiety than not wanting to join in. You'd think my being an actor would cushion the panic, but it doesn't; perhaps I'd feel more comfortable with a proscenium arch above me, though this might look a bit pretentious. I expect that's why my wife asked me to ask the questions, as she knows I prefer to have a job than just be left open. It's not that I don't enjoy these social situations in reality, but put me onscreen without a purpose and my capacity for awkwardness is in full flight. And luckily I still had the questions to hand for a quiz I hosted previously, so all I had to do was update a few answers for 2020 to be ready to go. And in the end, it was a lot of fun. We hosted it via the video conferencing app Zoom, which led to a multi-split-screen of 24-l...

In many ways, today’s show was the best of the run so far, and the most fun. For the first time, everyone filled from the front, making for a pack of punters right in my eye line, who were on board throughout. I had enough laughter to sit back on and help me enjoy telling the stories, rather than feeling I had to fight to keep the ball in the air (clunky football analogy). It may have been a little indulgent, but I mentioned my one-out-of-five score from a Twitter reviewer who said I failed to produce laughter, to an audible gasp; it was probably unnecessary to say it, but if nothing else it was good for mental health to vocalise my inner monologue at a show where the response from the audience couldn’t have been more at odds with that summary. It was nice that today’s show was a good one, as I had a friend in that I hadn’t seen properly for twenty years, despite having kept contact on Facebook and Twitter. We had a lovely chat over a drink in the ...

Sometimes, you'll write something down quickly without considering how it might be interpreted out of context. My favourite example of this was spotted a few years back, whilst flicking through Glyn’s diary. (He’d authorized my browsing by the way. I wasn’t being nosy.) We were in the midst of planning a rehearsal schedule, when he asked me to crosscheck some dates in his diary while he popped to the loo. As I leafed through the pages, my eyes were drawn to a fortnight in July that was blank except for one entry: ‘Cock Fun Day’. I felt the blind panic of a man who’d stumbled across something he wasn’t meant to see. The mental image those three words painted was horrendous. Setting aside time for yourself was all well and good, but this was ridiculous. What the Hell was Cock Fun Day? The mind boggled. Was it an annual event? Whatever it was, it warranted its own title, plus a clearing of the diary for a week either side of it. When I questioned him on the subject...