mostly david ephgrave

In the interest of tying up a few loose ends related to my recent Edinburgh Fringe adventures, I thought I'd share videos of two shocking events that occurred there. (Brace yourselves.) The first documents a washing machine with musical aspirations. View this post on Instagram A post shared by David Ephgrave (@ephgraveseyeview) The second shows at least one way my digs stuck the knife in. View this post on Instagram A post shared by David Ephgrave (@ephgraveseyeview) Popcorn, anyone?

It's fair to say my last week on the Fringe didn't progress as I intended. The first enemy at the gate was my old friend, the vestibular migraine, which surfaced a couple of times over the first few weeks like a sinister prelude for what lay ahead. Then on the penultimate weekend, what started as a low-level toothache escalated to the point that I had to call 111 to arrange an emergency appointment for a suspected abscess (good times). I hadn't realised how swollen my bottom jaw was because my beard had concealed it the same way it hides my hideousness from day to day. By last Monday evening, it was extremely uncomfortable and had sent my vertigo into hyperdrive. I was vomiting and felt like seven shades of shit (and that's a lot of shit-shades to deal with). To cut a long story short, that meant no more shows for me. Firstly, my face was too swollen to speak at length, which is pretty much the definition of standup. I was prescribed antibiotics for the infection, which...

Today proved how much better my show works with a bigger audience, something that's probably not that surprising, though it was lovely to have it confirmed. I didn't have that many in - probably about twelve, though a few more were shown through about ten minutes before the end when it was far too late to do a recap so God knows what they thought I was on about - though the impact on the atmosphere was huge. Suddenly, there were laughs to ride and the chance to have fun with the material, and I felt like a standup again too, which was a bonus. That's one of the positives to doing a lot of shows to small audiences on the Fringe: by the time you're back in front of a more substantial crowd, you quickly see the benefit of all those gigs when you had to work for a reaction. This was the case when we filmed my last show, 'David Ephgrave: My Part in His Downfall', a month after the 2018 Fringe. Putting it in front of a packed crowd felt like a treat, and the fact I wa...

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...

While writing my new show's progressing reasonably steadily, in my heart, I know it needs to be the last project I do alone for some time. I guess it was my choice - though it often doesn't feel like it - that most things I do now are self-generated, but they all leave me needing to draw on a reserve of self-belief that's fragile at best. I have to ignore so much negative reinforcement to keep going, which is hard when the personal problems I've suffered have much the same impact. The truth is that what I do is increasingly lonely, and isolation triggers the false narratives my past can dredge up. I think my abandonment issues are understandable, but it doesn't stop them from dragging me back. And recent events in my life have reinforced my lack of self-worth, making it harder to ignore them. I didn't deliberately set out to be a solo performer. I was in a band and a double act and sought healthy collaboration. And while being an actor inevitably requires forgin...

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 ...

Today would have been the last performance of my Edinburgh show about my dad, Good Grief. While I'm sad that I couldn't do it this year, if there's a Fringe to go to in 2021, I'll be up there with it; I don't bow out of potential debt that easily. Joking aside, it's strange how it all turned out. Like many people, I've watched the content of my diary vacate en masse thanks to the pandemic. I went into the office for the first time in weeks on Thursday and consulting my wall planner was like enjoying a visual joke, as nearly everything I'd planned didn't happen; no Bath Comedy Festival, no Brighton Fringe, no previews, no Edinburgh, and only two Mostly Comedys since January. I might as well have not put it up and saved money on Sharpies and Blu Tack in the process (and we're talking big bucks). I know I'm not the only one that's facing uncertainty, but there's still so much up-in-the-air. We're currently discussing with Hitchin Tow...

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...

One of my favourite moments of last Thursday’s show was revealing Jim Bowen was 44 in this picture for a guy at the back to shout, “Fuck off’. It’s easily the best reaction the photo has ever had as it perfectly mirrors what I thought when I first discovered it. It’s shocking enough to want to trace Bowen’s birth certificate in case he’d been rounding down his age considerably or had a similar ever-present existence to Pennywise from Stephen King’s It. If Bowen was genuinely in his early-to-mid forties he must have seen some truly terrible things in his lifetime akin to what Winston saw in Ghostbusters II; that or he never troubled his local chemist in search of moisturizer. I don’t mean to cast judgment so much as register my disbelief; you could add twenty years to his age without flinching. I can only hope that when I reach Bowen’s age in seven years I won’t look as old as him; it’s not too much to ask for, is it? I keep myself rel...