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...

While I have no issue with how people perceive my masculinity, I draw the line at asking the staff in Wilkinson where they keep their feather dusters. (To me, not stocking them wasn't an option.) The problem is I know, for some unfathomable reason, I'm perceived by the man-on-the-street as a level-pegging amusing / perplexing mash-up, and that’s before I’ve even opened my mouth. So why would I want to unnecessarily contribute to my gauche appearance? It’s practically science. What made things worse was, even though the duster was the only item I wanted, I still picked up a shopping basket. This put me in a no-win situation: if I had nothing in it when I questioned the staff - or worse, when I reached the counter - I’d somehow be underlining my ridiculous purchase. The only way out was to find where they stored their camp cleaning implements by myself and pad out my plunder with other products (much like buying porn). That's ...

Today, a guy looked so furiously at me while I was taking this photograph. The reason I took it was I thought it looked like a ‘Bring Your Kids to Work Day’, but he clearly didn’t like not knowing the reason why I was taking it; he looked from me to the cones then back at me again as if I was weird, or at the very least like needed to justify my intentions; it’s the kind of face I’ve grown to expect after years of taking random pictures to use for material, and an expression I could really do with removing from my life. The point is, I shouldn’t have to explain what I’m doing to anyone in this situation, unless what I’m doing is intrusive on inappropriate. When I do this sort of thing, I’m always discreet, but that doesn’t stop people from having a really long hard good look at the subject of my photographs, without any attempt to hide their confusion; I thought British people were supposed to be polite and go out of our way not to make a sce...

Is it weird to visit a barbers' you’ve never been to before to request a guy who used to run the shop next to you, but moved without warning to this other business, which you only happened to notice the other day when you saw him in there as you walked past? For most people, the answer would be, “No”, yet for me, the answer is, “Probably”. I don’t live in the same dimension as the rest of the planet; I exist in a world where any case of awkwardness is ramped up to a hund red-and-ten and I’ll always be the one to take the brunt of it; I’m one of the privileged few who could be given a strange look by a passerby who'd just shat themselves willingly and still come out worse. The sticking point that will make me take the risk is the fact he ‘gives good haircut’. He takes his time and barely needs any guidance. I can just sit quietly, knowing I’m in as safe scissored hands as if I were in the chair of Johnny Depp (when he’s playing Edward and not Sweeney). I know it ...

Yesterday, I had one of my classic awkward moments; the sort of thing that could only ever happen to me. I was walking through town when I spotted a guy standing by a crossroad near a set of traffic lights. As our eyes met, he gave me a little wave as if he knew me; I didn’t recognize him, but waved back out of politeness. No sooner had he got my attention than I noticed clipboard in his hand and realised my mistake: he was a charity worker, looking to sign people up.   It’s worth clarifying that I have absolutely nothing against giving money to charity; I just don’t earn enough to commit to a monthly payment. “Could you spare a couple of minutes, mate?”. “I’m afraid not", I replied. "I’m in a bit of a rush." This was the truth. “Go on”, he pressed. “Just a minute .” “I really can’t. I’m sorry.” I kept walking, but to no avail. “Just a couple of seconds, then. Surely you can spare that?...

I’m spending far too much time in coffee shops at the moment. It’s become an almost daily occurrence: either to kill time before a casting, or to finish off my daily blog. It’s helped me to be more productive – I’ve more inclined to work when out of the house – but I do get a little fed up with the enforced solitude. My caffeine intake has also gone through the roof; I’m currently shakier than an overworked Judy Finnegan. (This must be a by-product of being married to Richard Madeley. For her; not for me.) The hardest part is the constant flitting from one extreme to another; starting the day with a couple of hours in your own company, before psyching yourself up to walk into a casting. I always function best when I’ve had direct contact with others first thing; the longer it takes to have a proper conversation, the less likely I’ll be at ease when it comes to it. Thankfully, I’m not the only member of my social group who’s ...