mostly david ephgrave

Today, I found myself thinking about the changing seasons, now that Autumn draws near (not that you'd know it from the weather) and how this relates in a sense to my new house. (That's the first time I've called it that, without any caveats, which is progress.) Seasons are an obvious way to chart passing time that's illustrative of rebirth and development. They roll on endlessly, outside of our control, leaving us to adapt to them; when it gets warmer, short sleeves are prevalent, and when it's brass monkeys, out come the Winter coats.  Personally, I'm standing on the edge of real change. After twenty-one years in Hitchin (or essentially my adult life), I'm moving to a village outside it, into the closest thing to my family's spiritual home*. My grandparents bought the house in the late-1940s / early-1950s and raised my dad and his brother here, with my dad moving back when my parents separated when I was a kid. And now here I am, making it my home with ...

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...

This morning, I woke up thinking about the fact one of my closest friends is moving away at the end of the month. To be fair, his new home is only about an hour and a half’s drive away, but that doesn’t take into account the time it would take me to pass my test - which would involve at least a few weeks of intensive training (though I did have a few lessons when I was seventeen) - plus I’d have to save up for a car and be confident about using the motorway and…you get the picture. (Alternatively, it’s a couple of hours to the nearest town by train, but that’s still an improvement on my above workings.) I’m, of course, being flippant. In reality, the distance is no trouble at all, and I know I'll visit him regularly (plus he’ll come back here a lot too), but it will be strange to not have him as nearby as he was or be able to meet as often as we have for years now. That’s not to say I’m not pleased about h...

Unfortunately, my plan for a quiet evening tweeting along to tonight’s Monkman-filled episode of University Challenge was scuppered when an act booked for a forthcoming Mostly got in touch to say their availability has changed and they could no longer do the planned date. Thankfully, disaster was averted, as both the venue and line-up were free the day before. This was a relief, as the event is already nearly sold out, so the closer we can stay to the original date, the less likely it will be an inconvenience to everyone who’s booked. It’s still frustrating as - while it’s no-one’s fault - there’s a lot of faff ahead, as every ticket-holder has to be informed, with plenty of potential for people to miss these emails and not clock the change in date. Thankfully we don’t have to deal with this directly as the ticketing company handles all correspondence, but it’s still a pain when something you thought was sorted goes back to the drawing board. Outsi...