mostly david ephgrave

Today, I unwittingly stumbled across the most middle-class response to a lack of toilet roll in a public convenience in Hitchin's Caffè Nero, that somehow managed to be both grim and aspirational in equal measure. The gents’ there are awkward enough as it is, consisting of just a single cubicle with a small vestibule area that's akin to a airlock with just a sink and barely anywhere to stand. Once you’ve discovered it's engaged, you feel trapped, unable to walk straight out into the coffee shop so soon after walking in, yet also feeling too uncomfortable to stay. You’re too close to the theatre of conflict, so to speak, with no way out; it’s an exercise in social embarrassment. I walked in with trepidation today, sensing before I was anywhere near that someone was already in there, about to leave me in limbo (I was right). I stood, waiting for too long in that loo lobby, from where I could hear an ominous rustling on the other side of t...

I had a lovely time gigging at Comedy Bubble in Shoreham-by-Sea tonight, except for the moment I dropped my phone down the toilet. Pulling a face in a place (01.02.17) There were good and bad points to this particular little accident. Well, “good” is pushing it a bit; more in the sense that things could have been worse. Thankfully, I managed to retrieve my mobile before it was completely submerged, but - and here’s the horrific bit - let’s just say it went underwater before certain things had been sent to the coast (which is a confusing image, as I was by the seaside at the time of the incident). (I’m sorry about this.) Before I move on from this topic, I feel it necessary to point out that we’re not talking number twos, thank God; either way, it was the sort of status-lowerer I didn’t need in a public place. The gig itself, though, was great. I was on first, and unfortunately had to dash off straight after my set to aid my jour...

This morning, I was briefly worried a cat would play with my wee. I should explain this statement, before you think I’m an oddball. I’m cat-sitting for a neighbour this week, who owns two of the grumpiest-looking, yet sweetest cats I’ve seen. I’ve become this friend’s go-to person for feline-feeding, which suits me, as I like any excuse to spend time with my favourite type of animal, and it suits her, as she’s pleased to have someone who’ll keep them company, rather than just throwing a handful of cat-biscuits into a bowl and then sodding off. Every time I arrive at her flat, one of the cats runs straight for the bathroom and leaps onto the toilet cistern, so she can playfully bat at the water from the tap next to it, should a inferior human accomplice such as me be kind enough to switch it on. I always do, because I’m soft. The downside to my friend’s flat, however, is a distinct lack of doors. So, when I needed the loo this morning, I faced a quandary. I knew that as s...

After stumbling across this terrifying piece of magazine-based toilet art, I’ll never look at Hillary Clinton the same way again. It currently resides in the gents’ toilet of our shared office building. The magazines that make up its constituent parts have lived there for as long as we've rented it. Every time I go to the loo, I’m confronted with Hillary Clinton and Pippa Middleton’s faces smiling up at me; so much so that I live in fear of the reflex action my bowels would take if I ever met them. This is why I’ll never participate in a state or royal visit.   (‎ Not that either option applies in this instance.)   While the composite image may be unsavoury (what's Hillary doing with her right hand?) you can't help but admire the handiwork. It shows commitment. Whoever created it clearly has talent, which belies their slightly distorted view of the next potential U.S. President. I can't see the picture helping her campaign - though outside of this blog, th...