mostly david ephgrave

For some unfathomable reason, I seem to have adopted Mr Mackay from the sitcom Porridge’s laugh. (For reference, start the video 39 seconds in) This change came about in recent months. What was once a girly falsetto giggle is now a gravelly, raspy grunt. I blame my asbestos cupboard ; that and my forty-a-day cigar habit. I’d fully expected my voice to lose range with age; I just didn’t foresee it taking on the tone and timbre of a deceased Scottish actor in the process. It took me a while to identify whom I sounded like. I’d catch myself laughing and try to place it. Was it someone I knew? No, of course not ; i t was an actor I’ve watched countless times on DVD ( usually while compiling my tax return ) and subconsciously taken th eir cackle as my own. Thank God I didn't also start wearing the uniform. I suppose it could be worse. At least I haven’t grown a moustache. Give it time, though. Give it time.

Every so often I remember that Ronnie Barker is no longer with us and it makes me sad. He was such a wonderful comic actor. In fact, he was the best. He brought truth and warmth to everything he did. His portrayal of Norman Stanley Fletcher in Porridge is an acting tour de force, as moving as it was funny. He was always in control and never missed a beat. I can still picture the moment I found out he was dead. I went to my local garage to do some shopping and as I walked to the door the newspaper rack slowly came into view, to reveal his face smiling back from all the front pages. “Oh no ” I said to myself. He was somebody I’d always hoped to meet. I wanted to tell him how great I thought he was. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d heard it, but I would have still have loved to have had the chance. I once gave a flyer for one of mine and Glyn’s Edinburgh Fringe stand-up shows to Ronnie Corbett (another comedy hero, who...

It would probably come as no surprise to learn that I am a devourer of the classic comedy sitcom. It’s been the case since as early as junior school, when I kept two scrapbooks: one devoted to The Beatles and the other to Blackadder. Any time either a Fab or a ‘Blab’ appeared in a newspaper, the article would be carefully cut out and Pritt-stuck into the appropriate tome – often with my own little handwritten notes alongside it. My first ever gig was pre-assembly at the St. Nicholas JMI school, playing the Blackadder theme on an upright piano as my fellow students filed in. I was obsessed with the dry, sarcastic wit of Rowan Atkinson – and desperately wanted some of it for myself. I managed to convince my junior school friends that the BBC were going to make a series I was writing called 'March! Jenkins' (an idea lovingly ripped from 'Blackadder Goes Forth') – and spend many a lunch break drilling them through scenes from it. I was a megalomaniac e...

I’m very into animals. It’s important that you don’t misinterpret the above statement. There’s nothing suspect about my interest in the Animal Kingdom; our relationship has always been strictly platonic. I do, however, function best when there are animals around. My earliest pets were two rabbits named Sooty & Snowy. It probably doesn't take a great leap of the imagination to guess what they both looked like - though it might be best to keep your suppositions to yourself; you don’t want to be branded a rabbit racist. Rabracist? Ra(bb)c(i)s(t)? That’s enough of that. Sooty & Snowy were perfectly happy in the company of each other; it was only when I was added into the equation that things started to kick off.  The trick with rabbits is to start picking them up early; if you don’t get them used to being handled from the beginning then they soon make it clear who’s boss. As a result, my rabbit-keeping days were mostly restricted to feeding blad...