mostly david ephgrave

 A little over a week has passed since my last blog post, and I'm still in Edinburgh doing my thing. Monday was my first official day off, which was much-needed, though I did squeeze in an interview for my McCartney McAlphabet co-host Clary Saddler's podcast Mouth-Off and a therapy appointment too. The show itself is going well , though I'm still struggling for numbers. I don't mind performing to a small audience generally as it reminds you to connect instead of going on autopilot, though it's not a cost-effective way to do a fringe run. It also doesn't help you build a grassroots following when so few people get to see it. What's nice is people are getting on board with the subject matter. No show is a wasted opportunity, though it's the stuff around it that's frustrating. For example, yesterday, I set up my gear - no mean feat itself - to pack down moments later because just one person came. Days like this when no one has booked in by the time I...

It's a week today since I caught the train to Edinburgh to bring my show 'Good Grief' to the Fringe, and it's also the first chance I've had to take stock and write something to post here. The short answer to the question, "So, how's it going so far, David?" is, "It's going well, David; thanks for asking", though, as it's the Fringe, that comes with many caveats. Or am I just being pessimistic? The fact is Edinburgh's one hell of an endurance exercise, however you look at it, with a definite sense of one step forward, two steps back.  (And that's just navigating Cowgate.) The biggest challenge is doing it alone. Firstly, there's the logistical impact. Some people who bring shows to Edinburgh have producers and directors assisting them. Not old muggins Ephgrave. The only person I have working for me is my PR, who's brilliant and lovely, but I pay for that (well, not the lovely bit, which comes naturally) as I know with...

It's common sense really, but today I felt the value of starting the day positively. I took the dog out first thing - well, what classes as first thing for me - which I do most weekdays and, despite the rain, we both enjoyed it. The only downside to dog-walking is I often find myself thinking about difficult conversations from the past that still niggle. It's the mental equivalent to coming up with the perfect witty retort days later when the moment's passed. I try to catch my rumination when I notice it and actively change the subject as I know it's unhelpful. I'm getting better at this, though it's an inexact science. While it's good to take the dog out, deciding to play the drums as soon as I got home was the real win. Changes in my routine since lockdown has seen me slow down a bit and put on weight I'd like to shift, but it's always difficult to find the right exercise to suit my back problems and - let's be honest - lethargy. Old Me spent m...

How do you create a new narrative when your old one's so heavily ingrained and difficult events have pushed it to the surface? That's the question I ask myself this afternoon as I sit in front of a blank computer screen, trying to be productive. It's something I ask myself often, both directly and indirectly. I know I'm inclined to be a hard taskmaster and am prone to believe I'm somehow failing, but how can I stop my internal monologue from stymying me? It doesn't help that I've been frequently criticised by a relative who acts beyond criticism - particularly from me - irrespective of their behaviour. I was raised in a toxic household with guilt projected onto me and often blindsided by unexpected accusations that back footed me into apologies before I had time to consider whether they were necessary. In hindsight, I see that a lot weren't, and I was being subtly manipulated by someone committed to overbearing me, but it's still hard to dial down th...

I had a small flash of inspiration this morning regarding this blog and how to reframe my writer's block. As someone with a tradition for self-judgement, my recent dropoff from posting regular content here has been a source of genuine frustration. When I started this blog eight years ago, the intention was to find a way through my depression by giving myself a daily deadline, with one eye on the metaphorical rearview mirror at writing standup material too. For that first twelve months, I never missed a day, and while plenty of my posts were flawed, there was still a sense of a forward trajectory and improvement (in both my writing ability and my mood). Retrospectively, I'd say my expectations were too punishing. What had started as a motivational tool quickly became another reason to flay myself if I didn't keep up my productivity. Consequently, I'd be up late at night trying to finish blogs that were going nowhere due to tiredness and frustration. And while this daily ...

As we sprint past the finish line of such a challenging year, it can be hard to find positivity.  Sometimes it takes a little focus shift or a zooming-in on the finer-detail to locate it. There's an exercise I occasionally practise called the ten-finger gratitude meditation that positively reinforces this, and as such, is an appropriate way to start 2021. The crux of it is to find the time, usually at the end of the day, to list ten things you're grateful for. They can be big or small, and should you want to approach the task more mindfully, you could trace the outline of each hand with a finger as you do it; running it along the edge as you concentrate on the physical sensation, stopping at each fingertip for a moment as you state each point to yourself. The task may seem trite, but it's hugely beneficial in a world where we tend to hold onto the negative while dismissing the positive out of hand. This trait could take a lifetime to unlearn, or you may be unaware you even ...

Hearing back the interview I did for my friend Clary Saddler's podcast Mouth-Off in July last night proved how the timing of chance events can be fortuitous, as it gave me a little spark of certainty and gentle self-confidence I haven't felt for ages. powered by Sounder I know my self-perception is often skewed by my depressive mindset, after years of negative framing that makes me feel I'm not enough, either as a person or a creative entity. But listening to our conversation a good few months after recording it helped me hear my thoughts with fresh ears and gave me a renewed, if tentative, conviction in my own voice and that I may even be allowed to feel a little pride in my achievements, such as they are. (There's a fine line between having some self-belief and commissioning a giant statue of yourself to front a flotilla down the Thames though, so I'll tread lightly.) It helped that Clary went all out when it came to content, bolstering the interview with audio...

I tried to apply a practical mind today by doing some gardening to prevent my incoming directionlessness mindset from scuppering my day. The current circumstances, both personally and on a wider scale, feel like the perfect storm for low mood and lethargy. Meanwhile, I'm standing at Ground Zero, steeling myself against my depressive susceptibility (like Gandalf, dosed up on citalopram, screaming, "YOU SHALL NOT PASS"). At least I'm prepared for this, having spent years attempting to carefully manage my mental health to varying degrees of success. The pandemic, however, has left many people who've never considered what's a healthy strategy to stave off depression and anxiety, ankle-deep in a river of faeces, sans paddle. And that precise location, for those of you familiar with the app what3words, is fuckwit.johnson.shame. The change of scenery from laptop to garden definitely helped, as did focusing on a physical task. It's like when I disappear for an ho...

I found myself pondering the nature of the phrase 'work in progress' this morning. It's a statement that surfaces a lot in my job. Half of a stand-up's year revolves around previews and festival dates that lead toward Edinburgh that you mark as work in progress to alleviate expectation and prevent reviews from coming too early. Just chatting to a friend who attends a performance will usually involve the words, "It's not ready yet." But it suddenly occurred to me today that to ever remove the disclaimer is almost ludicrous as the idea that it's ever finished is a misnomer; the tweaking - like a playground bully with his victim's nipples - never ends. You can also apply the statement more broadly: life is, by its very nature, a work in progress; you're always chipping away at existence bit by bit, trying to change your ways for the positive and doing your best. And, to paraphrase Lenny Kravitz (as I often do), "It Ain't Over 'til Its...

Distance and space are helping me reframe the nature and mechanics of my relationship with my mum, with some startling realisations. It's a delicate process, as mulling over the detail can reopen the door to the pain of all the unresolved feelings in the face of someone who can only shut you down. So you have to tread with caution. But if you sidestep the exhaustion from begging to be heard, the overall picture is revealed. Put simply: my mum could have been kinder. She could have tuned in to my requests, which weren't outlandish, and shown interest in helping my future too. She had it in her power to exercise that choice, and to play a part in what lay ahead as well. But when given the option, time and again with as much calmness as I could muster in escalating circumstances, she stonewalled me and threw up barriers and actively chose the route that led to a future without me. That outcome was of her making - just like the acts of emotional abuse through my childhood were too...

The fact I'd hired a skip the same week I approach the end of my therapy while also taking part in an online meditation retreat was metaphor-tastic, to say the least. A skip forces you to consider what to throw away and what to keep, in the same way that therapy helps you discard or come to terms with some of the rubbish in your life. Sometimes, it's hard to let go of detritus, whether you want to or not. You can also remain attached to things that brought you no good and served no other purpose than familiarity. The brutal choices presented by the circumstances offer an opportunity to move on. That's not to say this will happen instantly, though it stands as a gesture towards it. There's nothing quite like throwing something huge away for taking a weight off your shoulders,  leaving a  sense of uplift and relief. (That paragraph was either profound or just collection of vague, circular sentences; answers on a postcard, marking the left-hand corner, "Dick".) T...

I spend a lot of time ruminating over the events of my childhood and those surrounding my dad's death. It returns, repeatedly, without choice. That's the nature of trauma from emotional abuse. And the impact when it's at its worst is frightening and can put me at risk. Recovery's often a case of one step forward, two steps back. You occasionally make leaps apparently from nowhere, though progress is fragile, particularly when you've been conditioned to take the blame, or made to feel your pain's only real if the person who causes it can see it. I hope this doesn't sound conceited, but yesterday, as I lay in the garden mulling it over, a statement came fully-formed in my head. And though I'd heard it before, at that moment, it had clarity:  "It's not your fault. You did your best. And if your dad were here, he'd see it." I can't understate what a massive shift this is. And last night, I had a glass of wine to celebr...

I'm at the very early stages of planning a new podcast about narcissistic abuse, and I'm quite excited about it. It's a subject I'm still getting to grips with, though the act of reading up on it (and talking to other people who've experienced it) is helping me come to terms with it. Every day, I learn little details that put what's happened into perspective. And while I'm still delicate, there's been progress. Just today, I had a mini-revelation that took a little weight off. I was watching a video from a series recommended by a friend that was discussing toxic logic when the penny finally dropped on the common point that narcissists have no empathy and no rules apply to them. While I'd read that frequently and even remarked about it, I hadn't processed it, because it's such an alien concept when you  are  empathetic. So much of the pain comes from asking the question, "Why me?" and "Why wasn't I enough?"...

My anxiety's been through the roof lately, though I've been trying to rein it in with my usual coping techniques - meditation being the main one - but interestingly, I've found drumming particularly beneficial too. I ordered an electric kit at the start of lockdown - although it only arrived at the beginning of May - firmly intending to work on an aspect of my musicality for the first time in God knows how long. I'm a lazy musician who only practises when I'm working, which is shocking really. And drumming's something I've never spent much time on, though I've always been very comfortable with percussion, so it's not too big a stretch. Ordering the kit ticked a lot of boxes in the current circumstances, offering the opportunity for exercise that I was sure would be good for my mental health. And the latter's already evident. It's fair to say I'm going through a rough patch with my depression and anxiety that's been aggravated...

I currently feel like a bomb's gone off in my head; the energy to work past my low mood isn't there. It's like there's a hole where my drive should be. A load of last-minute admin relating to the online interview we're doing in place of Mostly Comedy next week flew in both yesterday and today, which lifted my anxiety to accentuate my sense of worthlessness. It's like I'm racing to meet deadlines for something I'm no longer interested in, which isn't strictly true, but when depression's at its worst, that's how the world looks. Of course, I know why I'm feeling like this. It's the fallout from a year's worth of watching a close relative illustrate they care less about me than they care about money or maintaining the lies they'd built up. It's learning they never understood what they put me through as a child, then as an adult, and that their temper is such they can't process the truth if it paints them in a n...

Having become something of a lazy musician of late, I decided to apply some energy into actually improving my skills by buying an electric drumkit so I can work on my drumming. I wouldn't say I'm a drummer so much as someone who can drum a bit, which is wholly in keeping with my 'Jack of all trades, master of none' approach to life and particularly music. My experience is mostly limited to having a quick go on someone else's kit during a rehearsal or a soundcheck. And while I've never sat down to practise, it's certainly something I've always wanted to do. When you're a musician without a lead instrument, like me, it's easy to rest on your laurels and stop improving. I'm the type of person who only stretches himself musically when a job requires it; when I'm working as an actor/musician, I frequently find myself in the role of lead guitarist, bassist or keyboard player, which gives me a reason to focus on that instrument. And whe...

It's fair to say we're living through a difficult time, and while it's hard to know what's ahead, it worth taking the opportunity to take stock of where we're lucky. I know I couldn't manage without my wife, and how fortunate I am to have her. We've been together for fifteen years and married for a little under six, and she's my most ardent supporter. Being with me isn't straightforward and comes with its challenges, but she stands up to them and makes things better. If I hadn't had her to help me through the mental health mess I was in when we met, I wouldn't still be here today. I know I wouldn't. And that comes with a lot of pressure, but she's still with me (the fool) and, despite it all, we still have a lot of fun. And while it may be soppy, I'm grateful for our dog. He brings a spark to my day and fills it with energy and positivity. He came from Wood Green Animal Shelter a little over a year ago and is a perfect fi...

This may sound ludicrously simplistic, but today I came to the startling therapy-assisted realisation that from now on, I genuinely don't have to worry what one person thinks.  This shit could change my life. It's the one good thing to come out of an awful situation, though ironically, it was a right I should have had anyway, that had long been overwhelmed. A sentence I've often used to explain the nature of our relationship was that I always felt a step away from disappointing this person as a natural starting point; so even if I did what they wanted, that moment had passed with the next potential let-down just around the corner. And I often couldn't predict what their expectations would be, which made it relentless. You also couldn't discuss the problem without making things worse; at best we'd argue without progress, and if we were on the phone, they'd often hang up. (But I don't want to make this about them when this realisation'...

We live in anxiety-provoking times.  The news is awash with it; If it's not Trump, it's Brexit. The gutter press is full of aggressive rhetoric stoked by politicians that risks winding up the less-informed to the point of violence, and somehow we have to navigate this without being overwhelmed by it. Meanwhile, global warming marches on with nary a glance when it should be our priority. If you suffer from panic attacks or anxiety in a clinical sense, as I do, the bigger picture will only compound your struggle, so it's often best to limit exposure to it, at least until don't feel so vulnerable. But at the same time, I hate to not be abreast with events so I've often got an eye on the news (something social media only encourages). The trick is to try to strike a balance. You can do small things to help the situation while keeping a relatively low profile. But if we want to take away this perceived fire we need to work harder at not being so toxic.

I feel like my life's on pause.  My impetus has gone at the moment. It's almost impossible to see beyond the mess I'm in, to a time when I can live in my dad's house and look to the future, while still allowing space for my past to be important.  Creatively, I have no interest in work; in fact, it's not that I'm disinterested, I just can't concentrate on anything. I'm already anxious about Thursday's Mostly Comedy; I have no desire to be funny and I'm certainly not match-fit. Hopefully, Glyn and I can just stick to some well-trodden material so I don't have to perform on my own. It's daunting to be back in a situation where the past threatens to overwhelm my present, and all because what I suffered - both as a child and as an adult - has been rendered unimportant by someone who hasn't the right to do that. And that person - who never played by the rules or tried to meet other people's expectations - continues to act a...