mostly david ephgrave

Death comes to us all. That’s one of the few certainties in life you can rely on. Despite this logic, I find it hard to believe that Rik Mayall has gone. How can a person with such boundless energy and enthusiasm not be about? He represented the eternal teenager. Even as he approached middle age, he'd never aged with it. As a kid, I’d tune into Bottom every week, revelling in its rudeness. If my parents entered the room, I’d initiate a loud conversation, in the hope of masking the filth spouting from my television. My best friend Chris owned a book of the scripts. Whole days were lost to acting out the episodes, with me as Richie and him as Eddie. I still remember Richie’s lullaby from the camping-on-Wimbledon-Common episode verbatim. God knows what important information it replaced in my head. Every performance was given that distinctive wide-eyed, nostril-flared Mayall stamp. There was nobody like him. Take Flashheart in Black...

In 2010, I achieved the dubious distinction of fluffing the bass part to 'Happy Birthday Sweet Sixteen' in front of its composer, Neil Sedaka. This career highlight / lowlight took place during my opening night in the West End Musical, Dreamboats and Petticoats. I had a reasonable excuse for my mistake, to be fair, as I was appearing in the show two days earlier than expected, and had only found out I’d be on a few hours before curtain up. I was shopping in Sainsbury’s when I received the call. The Company Manager told me that one of the cast had fallen ill – and while I was under no obligation to come in, as I wasn’t yet under contract, it would really help them out if I did. ‘Sod it’, I thought. ‘I might as well get my first show over and done with’. Spin forward a few hours and I was standing in the wings of The Playhouse Theatre, newly clean-shaven, about to make my West End debut. The turnaround was so quick that I’d ba...

Every evening this week, at exactly the same time, I’ve gone to my local shop to buy a pack of Cadbury’s Giant Buttons. It’s felt like a cry for help. I’ve been served by the same guy each time. He must have noticed. Perhaps he's labelled me ‘The Button Man’ in his head. It’s as if he’s complicit in my secret, chocolatey shame. What makes it worse is it’s quite a big bag, containing more Buttons than you should eat in one sitting. If I keep to this one-pack-per-evening schedule I’ll eventually have to be lifted out of my house with a special type of winch. I mustn’t let things get that bad. The time has come to exercise some self-restraint. Still, at least they've kept me off the heroin.

Yesterday, I started my second week in ‘Marry Me, or Be Evicted’ , the comedy melodrama I’m performing at The Market Theatre all month. It’s going well, despite the fact I'm still suffering from labyrinthitis. I hoped this might have passed by now, but it hasn't. It certainly adds an extra dimension to proceedings, spending the entire show feeling like I’m on a fairground rotor. It’s not just my head that’s suffering. The audience turnout has been a little low. The theatre only has a capacity of sixty-five. Last night, we had just eight people in: enough to fill the front row, which is exactly what they did. They were pretty responsive for an audience of their size, but it was still hard work. I imagine it must also have been a bit intimidating. A lot of the show is delivered out front – and, while we never pick on anyone, they must have felt like they were constantly under scrutiny. The numbers will hopefully pick up over the next few weeks. The good weather probab...

Brut Deodorant costs £1.50 in Wilkinson. Brut Anti-Pespirant costs £1.25. It’s cheaper not to sweat. Actually, I’ll rephrase that: it’s less expensive to stave off perspiration than to not. I find this surprising. If anything, I would have expected it to be the other way round. I see sweat prevention as a deodorant must (or musk?) and not an optional extra. Why would you opt for a body spray that doesn't keep sweat patches at bay? Also, why would you pay more for it? If you do this, you’re a mug – and the people at Fabergé clearly saw you coming. Or smelt you, at the very least. It’s like marketing a lawnmower that lengthens grass, or a fire extinguisher that spurts flames, and then charging extra for it. I’m clearly in the wrong business. Still, I smell nice.

I get married in less than six weeks. As the day looms ever closer, all of the pieces are gradually falling into place. You may be surprised that I haven’t mentioned this in my blog already. This is because I don’t expect other people to be as interested in it as I am. It’s very important to me, of course, and I’m looking forward to it – but that doesn’t mean that everyone else has to feel the same way. I also like to keep these things to myself. (He says whilst writing a public blog about it.) Weddings often become an exercise in narcissism. They’re also often a long time in-the-making. Not for us. I asked my girlfriend at the beginning of the year and we set the date for mid-July. Though the turnaround has been quick, nothing has suffered. The venue, reception and honeymoon are booked and everything’s just right for us. It helps that we’ve been together for a long time. We also both think it’s not the wedding day that’s the most i...

I’m not feeling very inspired to write today. I’ve used the morning to catch up on a little admin. Now I’m at a bit of a loss. There are a few things I could be doing, but I’m not in the mood. I’m certainly enjoying the luxury of our new office. We’ve had it for just over a fortnight now and it’s starting to take shape. It’s nice to have a space to come to work. I’ve also been using the room to meditate, though not so much over the last few days, as I’m still suffering from labyrinthitis. It’s frustrating as it makes it difficult to concentrate. I feel like one of my eyes is constantly flicking from left to right. It’s like being drunk, without any of the benefits. Hopefully this will pass over the next few days. Until then, forgive me if I literally walk into you on the street. That’s my excuse, anyway.