mostly david ephgrave

Either people have started recognising me locally, or I look weird. I guess it's not that surprising that the people in my area might know my face, what with the comedy club I run, the theatre stuff I’ve done here, and the fact my band were popular in Hertfordshire back in the day. I’ve achieved the lowest level of celebrity: I'm 'Big in Hitchin'; if I could just break Cambs, Beds and Bucks, I’d be on my way to bagging Anglia and the South East. The downside to this bijou fame is I feel self-conscious doing mundane things, like buying toilet roll or going to the doctors’. I feel like Wings caught in the spotlight on the cover of Band on the Run: everyone knows the sick, twisted things I’ve been up to (just ask my GP). One thing I often forget is how loud I’m speaking in a pub or a coffee shop, and that I may be overheard. I’ll be moaning about a time I felt slighted, or orating my opinion of a gig or a venue, without consid...

I’ve noticed lately, with some sadness, that my local Caffè Nero is not what it was. It’s nothing to do with the coffee, the premises, or the way that it’s run. What’s changed is the staff. Literally. Most of the people who worked there when I used to sit in to write have moved on to pastures new. The friendly faces who would ask me how I was and what I was up to have nearly all gone. They’ve been replaced by equally amiable faces (on different bodies: they’re not the same people), but however pleasant they may be, the magic has gone. There’s no connection. What was once a refuge for a frustrated out-of-work actor and comic is now a place to pop in and out of quickly. It’s no longer my Caffè Nero; it’s just another Caffè Nero. I’ve lost my Cheers, my Moe’s, my Queen Vic. I’m like Frasier boycotting Café Nervosa, due to Elvis Costello – except my Costello is the Costello of the past . What I’m saying is: I miss it. In many ways, it’s a positive. The staff I used to cha...