mostly david ephgrave

Today was my aunt's funeral. The first word that springs to mind when I think of her is "kind". She loved her family to bits and they doted on her. She married my dad's brother in 1965 and it was clear they loved each other inside out. And even though I saw her less as the years went by, she always made me feel at ease at family events. And as the woman who's put up with a male Ephgrave the longest, statistically speaking, she deserved a medal (he says in jest). The service itself was lovely. She'd played an active part in its planning, which made it feel more intimate. COVID restrictions meant only thirty people could be there, which must sting, but I was glad to be among them. And it was good to see my uncle and my cousins even if it was in the worst circumstances; it always strikes me how the Ephgraves have a look and sound about them, with shades of my nan and grandfather - and of course my dad - on every face. Inevitably, my thoughts turned to him today. ...

Today, I received word that my dad's gravestone has been laid, along with a photograph to prove it (not that I was in any doubt). It's these things you can be a little unsure how you'll react to; it was like seeing his coffin at the funeral or carrying his ashes casket at the burial. There's a sense of finality and actuality that can be a little unsettling if don't prepare yourself for it. But any time I worry, I remind myself that it's just my dad and I love him, and I needn't be afraid, because there'll never be a reason to be frightened when he's nearby, ever. When the paramedic asked if I wanted to see him when I arrived minutes after he'd died, I faltered for a moment. But I quickly mentally corrected myself, because I knew I had a responsibility to him as my dad, and because I knew he'd need me. He told me more than once towards the end that I made him less afraid when I was there, so I was glad there was a way I could acti...

Perhaps the nicest moment at Thursday's Hitchin Mostly Comedy - aside from the round of applause when I dedicated the show to my dad - was when a woman in the audience stopped me as I sneaked in at the back mid-show to ask if she could give me a hug. It was a decidedly un-British thing to do, but the thought didn't go unappreciated and the conversation that followed was very nice. As well as saying kind, supportive things about losing my dad, she told me she'd been coming to the club since 2008 (so from the very beginning) and how much she loves it. She said her friends even have a Mostly Comedy WhatsApp group, which they use to discuss what shows they'd like to attend and who's paying for it. The fact people take the time to do this amazes me and reminds me our punters are a lovely bunch. I know losing a parent is such a commonality in life that being in my position isn't exactly special or unusual, but the combination of it, my Edinburgh situation and...

It's a measure of my constant overthinking that I'm worried I sounded too upbeat when on the phone to the funeral directors' today; from the tone and colour in my voice, he probably thinks I'm having the time of my life. "You haven't heard back from the vicar yet? Brilliant!" Like The Monkees, I was just trying to be friendly. I also happened to be on the bus, talking handsfree, so it was hard to judge how loud I needed to be to not sound weird. Having said that, however much I tried to not appear unhinged, I ended up pitching my replies like a T.I.E. performer speaking to a reception class; I may as well have been leading a conga line for all the enthusiasm I put into it. That's why any form of human interaction is to be strictly avoided, particularly if it's over the phone. It's also why I'll mentally prepare when I'm standing a cue waiting my turn; I'll mull over the various subtle variations on the theme that might come up...

Nothing starts the day better than receiving a cheery email. Stumbling across this as I scrolled through my mobile inbox yesterday with a bowl of Sainsbury's Wholewheat Biscuits in one hand and a cat on my lap (God knows how it got there, as don't own any pets) put a spring in my step that lasted until bedtime. "Oh yes, of course ," I said to myself, "I'm going to die , and something will have to be done with my remains. But would I prefer to decompose over an extended period, or be burnt to a crisp?"  I’m glad I wasn’t eating toast. I'd like to think that I'm a realist. I'm also not particularly squeamish. Perhaps society would be better prepared to face mortality - and the inevitable admin that comes with shuffling off of it - if we didn't sweep these thoughts under the carpet. How will my family know I'd like my corpse to be fired from a cannon into the barrel of a second bigger cann...

Today, I accidentally stopped a funeral procession at a pelican crossing. Was this a massive faux pas? By the time I’d spotted them, I’d already pressed the button. It was already too late. Grief had no place between me and the other side of the road. You don’t have right of way over a corpse every day. I didn’t like the fact that I’d had an impact on the running time of the ceremony. Suddenly, without warning, I was a part of their unhappy day. I hope they didn’t miss their slot. I wouldn’t want that on my conscience. It’s not as if they were travelling fast enough that I couldn’t cross in front of them without the assistance of traffic lights. Mourners by their nature don’t tend to travel fast. Either way, I’m sure they hated me. How dare I sneak in at the last minute when they’re trying to get the body to its final resting place? I’m nothing, if not inconsiderate. It could have been worse though: it could have been an ambulance. I’m not sure what would have happened t...