mostly david ephgrave

Today, I finally finished compiling my 2017/18 tax records (with my wife as my unpaid assistant), which makes for depressing reading unless you're a fan of minus figures. (If so, then get ready for  this : -4922.679232) (I know: phwoar) I find myself at a crossroads over what to do next. The past four years have been primarily about performing stand-up to fringe audiences to work up my solo chops, having always performed comedy as one half of a double-act up to that point. While I've taken shows to London, Brighton, Bath, Leicester, Hitchin and Letchworth over that time, there's no doubt Edinburgh was the biggest underlying factor, with the other dates being either a warm-up for or a cool-down from three consecutive Edinburgh Fringes, with me writing another solo show in 2015 that I didn't take to Scotland, but was still put together with going there alone as my motivation. There's no denying the experience has been challenging, both creatively and financial...

Tonight I had a moment of solidarity when I looked up on the tube to see Stewart Lee sat opposite me, looking through his notes on his way to do a show in the same venue, but in the other space. It’s times like that when you briefly put into perspective what you’re doing and the privileged position you’re in. There were only three people performing at Leicester Square Theatre tonight: Stewart Lee, Jason Byrne and me - and while I’m under no illusions about my position is in the comedy food chain, it’s nice to be a part of that scene and to acknowledge the achievement, however small it may be. I obviously knew he was going to be at the venue tonight and that I might bump into him, but there was something pleasingly coincidental about winding up in the same tube carriage to both be looking through our notes. I’m more than aware of how much of a grafter he is - much like his former comedy partner Richard Herring - but it was still lovely to see him me...

On my way back from the Chiropractor today, I walked past some street eggs. Street eggs. I don’t think I’ve ever seen real street eggs before in real life, though I did once see some street carrots. I’ve spotted a single maraca and a kit for a perfect night out in Bath, but never a single egg. My run-ins with street food have been surprisingly few, which is a shame, as there’s nothing like an edible mystery to keep things interesting. A night out in Bat. Street carrots. My visit to the chiropractor was a little painful, but it was worth it, if only to release my locked shoulder a bit. He’s suggested I go in once a week until I go to Edinburgh, in that hope that we can take control of it and stop it being a big problem before I go away, and I trust him implicitly with it. He’s excellent at his job and has helped me countless times in the past, so there’s no reason this should be any different. Outside of medical appointments and run in with some Chic...

I’ve been concerning myself with admin today for a couple of work-in-progress dates that I’m doing at the Bath Comedy Festival in April. As is always the case when you’re self-producing a show, getting the paperwork done is part-satisfying, part-frustrating; you can’t help but feel that the time spent filling in forms, choosing promo pictures and writing blurbs would be much better spent deciding what you’re actually going to say on stage when you're up there . This becomes a small, yet important background detail. I remember chatting to a well-established comic who was previewing one of his Edinburgh Fringe shows at Mostly Comedy a few years back, and remarking on my frustration with this admin / writing balance. He’d recently been taken on by one of the country’s biggest comedy producer / agencies, and told me how for the first time since he’d started out, he hadn't had to consider the organisational side of things once; everything was in...

I’ve got into the habit of playing a handful of YouTube clips of songs that put me in a good mood, when I’m in the bath in the morning. This is not without risk. I keep my mobile on the window ledge above the bath: reaching up to it with the driest hand that I can muster, to switch from one clip to another. It’s my personal take on an extreme sport. If only there were other ways I could do it, such as listening to a playlist I’d set up in advance or - God forbid - an ALBUM, there’d be less chance of me making an insurance claim in the near future. What can I say? I like to live dangerously. The music I choose tends to go around in cycles. I’ll listen to the same few songs for a week or two, then move on to something else. I’m quite careful about my selections, never wanting to play anything so maudlin that it makes me want to slip my head below the surface. I’m like the priest in Father Ted who listens to the Theme from Shaft to lift himself from depression, without the co...

While I’ve no interest in the sport at all, I like to hear the sound of people playing football in the park near my flat every Sunday morning. It epitomises the day for me. It’s quite comforting. It helps that it often comes with a backdrop of church bells ringing. I usually only hear it when I’m in the bath. Something about the lack of a rush to get ready, along with knowing they play purely for fun, makes for a relaxing experience. Until the water goes cold. It would be a different story if I was walking past them. I’d spent the whole time terrified they’d kick the ball in my direction. They’d only expect me to kick it back. There’d be no guarantee I could make it take the desired trajectory. Even if it did, I’d have to do it a fair few times to get it close to the game. It’s funny that I like it so much, when I hate the sound of football supporters en masse ( something I’ve covered before ). To me, it’s the sound of ignorance. Or of a potential ‘bottling’. I’m...