mostly david ephgrave

It wasn't until I cleaned my bathroom mirror today that I realised how much I'd been relying on the Robert Redford-like blurred smudge that had developed on it to hide a multitude of sins. It was like I'd switched from low-to-high-def in just a few wipes.  At least I was living in unwitting denial before I reached for the duster and polish; now I've been brought up to speed in double-quick time. Within minutes I've been thrust into how the other half lives: those poor bastards who are subjected to my face daily; I pity them, I won't lie: it was a shock. I didn't know I'd grown so haggard. Consequently, having my reflection thrown so suddenly into focus was a game-changer akin to Bruce Willis realising he's dead; I may as well have stumbled across a partially-submerged Statue of Liberty for the damage it did to me. No-one told me about the bags under the eyes, nor the grey hairs. No-one said I'd start putting on weight. And yet here it all i...

A moment ago, while making a pot of coffee, I caught sight of a mug that I received as a present for my eighteenth birthday lurking at the back of the kitchen cupboard and came to the worrying realisation that this happened sixteen years ago. My kitchen is a hotbed for such reminders. My noticeboard has an advert pinned to it that my parents placed in the local paper to mark my 21 st birthday, back in 2002. Next to this, a Beatles-themed calendar celebrates the fiftieth anniversary of 'Help!', on which a photo of the band smiles back, none of whom were twenty-five when the album was released. On the adjacent wall, there’s a framed poster for the show in which I made my professional début nearly fourteen years ago. I may as well carry a device that counts down the time to my advancing middle age, reminding me of how close it is at thirty-minute intervals. I know I’m being melodramatic; I’m not old yet. Plenty of people would...