mostly david ephgrave

Much o f the afternoon was spent trying to pull together a press mailout for my Brighton Fringe show. I got there in the end, thanks to a little assistance from my wife. It's nice to have help, as I've sent so many press releases out over the years that I almost cease to see the point in doing it. It's useful when it comes to promoting Mostly Comedys with high profile line-ups, but there's much less impact when you're just promoting yourself. It's hard to create interest, or to find the time to a publicise what you're doing properly, when there's so much other stuff to be done as well, like writing and rehearsing your show in the first place. Now the mailout's completed for the most part, I can focus on what needs to be done for the show. I was suitably enthused by my Bath 'Work in (Hope of) Progress' dates, as they gave me a positive sense of moving on with my stand-up; to paraphrase a well know 60s song, "It's getting better all ...

Yet again, I've frazzled my brain with admin, rather than focusing on the things I'd rather prioritise on. This always seems to be the case. Tonight, I've written press releases for the next few Mostly Comedys (I never know how to pluralise this) and pulled together a mailout to be sent to our mailing list in the morning. I wanted to get this out at the weekend, knowing it would increase sales for this week's show and raise awareness of the next few dates, but life got in the way. I long for the time when I'm not chasing my tail (in a metaphorical sense, as I'm essentially tail-less). This happened at the expense of the two things I wanted to do this evening, which were (1) apply for the BBC New Comedy Competition (for which the deadline is midnight tonight) and (2) watch The X-Files with my wife (our current brain switch-off of choice). Predictably, neither happened. Bloody bastard bloody linear time. Thankfully the whole day wasn't like this. This morni...

I’m starting to lose patience with the general public. It’s worse than that: I’m starting to lose patience with everything . I frequently move out of the way to let someone pass me on the street, or hold open a door, to no acknowledgement. I step into busy roads to negotiate my way around couples who fill the entire width of a pavement without consideration of the fact that other people might be using it; far better for me to be knocked down by a car than for them to briefly walk in single file. I wouldn’t want a passer-by to think they don’t know each other (not that they could get past if they wanted to). For a person who is reasonably laid-back, my capacity for moaning is extraordinary. I can be irritated by anything from a strangely worded / poorly enunciated TV voice-over to the shape of someone’s face. Ironically, the thing that annoys me most is myself; God, I’m an infuriating, lanky, deep-voiced git. It’s no wonder I turn to meditation to k...

My meditation teacher has an alarming aptitude for explaining things clearly and succinctly. Seldom will a class go by without him making an excellent point or analogy illustrating the message he’s trying to get across. He makes you stop and think, which is great, as this constant reiteration of what’s important is vital, as it can be easily forgotten in the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Far better to take stock of where you’re at from time to time, than let your plans run away with you. He’s very wise, that man. I nearly didn’t go to tonight’s lesson, as the weather was uninspiring, but I’m glad I did. I missed the beginning, due to public transport, and had to leave before the end as the class had overrun, but what I did take part in was worth being brave enough to venture out of the house. The only thing I didn’t appreciate was the journey there, as there were a handful of teenagers on the bus, being low-level threatening and unpleasant....

I’ve strained my wrist. [INSERT YOUR PUNCHLINE HERE.] The annoying thing about being a man with a wrist injury is that if you mention it to anyone, you get the same knowing look: a look that says, “I bet I know how you did that. A little too enthusiastic, were we?”. It’s the same when you catch a cold; complain once and you’re accused of suffering from man flu. I’d happily get pneumonia if only to show these people up. Men can be ill too, you know. I’ve always had weak wrists [INSERT PUNCHLINE NUMBER TWO]. It stems from being a guitarist. I’d often have problems on tour. If you’re playing for two hours a night in different conditions and at varying temperatures, it’s easy to strain them. You’d then never have sufficient time to let them heal. I’ve put up with it since I was in a band as a teenager. Though I seldom play these days, it still flares up; it wreaks havoc with my juggling. It happens to my right hand most often, which isn’t so bad, as I’m left handed. I can st...

Every Strictly Come Dancing audience member that groans after the judges give their feedback is a professional choreographer. That must be the case. How else would they have a sufficient understanding of what Craig, Darcey, Len and Bruno are about to say to boo before they’ve finished their sentence? They’re all experts. Either that, or they’ve watched too many pantos through the years. I sometimes wonder if they’ve even seen the show before. It took me minutes to spot the pattern to Craig Revel Horwood’s comments. He starts with the bad and ends with the good. It’s not hard to get to grips with. What these on-beat-clapping mouth-breathers don’t realise is you seldom get positive feedback in the performing arts industry. A director or choreographer will usually only tell you when you’ve got something wrong, not when you’ve got something right. You work at such a lick, there’s little time for affirmation. If you get no notes, you're doing well. That said, I know...

In the six days I've been in Venice, I've not seen a single supermarket. You're fine if you're after a Commedia dell'arte mask, a Murano glass ornament, or a snow globe of a gondolier - but if you're looking for groceries, you'll be sorely disappointed. It actually doesnt have to be a supermarket. Any shop that sells food basics would do. I'm not out to buy a fake Gucci handbag (which, bizarrely, you can pick up right outside the Gucci shop), but stuff one with cakes and biscuits and you might rouse my interest. If we'd been here for five days as we'd originally planned, it wouldn't be a problem. Thanks to EasyJet, our honeymoon was extended by two nights. Consequently, we've now reached the point where, given the choice, we'd much rather fend for ourselves. I don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, so don't make me. The restaurants here are lovely. I'm a big fan of Italian food. I also like variety. Venice i...

Ladies and gentlemen, pray silence – and listen to the worst version of ‘Why Do Fools Fall in Love?’ of all time. What can I say? I’m so sorry for putting you through this. I was blissfully ignorant of Diana Ross’ cover of this old doo-wop classic until just after 11 o’clock this morning, when Sir Terry included it as part of his Weekend Wogan playlist – and now I can never unlearn it. Barely thirteen seconds into the record you already know you’re in for a bad thing: the high-tuned tom-fill that kicks things off; the backing vocalists that sound like they’ve started in a different key from the rest of the band, but would sooner persist than admit their mistake; the jaunty bassist who plays as if the chord chart fell off their music stand a few bars in, but isn’t going to let this hold them back for a second. Even the piano part is awful; if it was any more devoid of soul you’d be asking a paramedic to check the pianist for signs of life. It’s like everyone wh...