mostly david ephgrave

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...

Today, I went to Stevenage Arts Society’s latest exhibition at Springfield House, which is showing three paintings by my dad. I timed my visit wisely, as he was invigilating, which meant a bonus cup of coffee from his flask and a Kit Kat Chunky from his packed lunch. These are the perks you get when you’re the son of a featured artist. I didn’t go just for the feed though; I went to see the artwork, and wasn’t disappointed, as there was plenty to enjoy (my dad’s paintings included). It’s a shame more people don’t know about the show, or the art club in general. I asked my dad whether there’d been a piece in the local paper, and offered to email the editor and a handful of other press contacts I have if not, to see if they could squeeze something in; I’m provincially connected. The exhibition only has a week left (it finishes on 12 th December), and it would be a pity to be missed out. It’s a small show but the standard is high (says the non-artist), and the paintings are ...

I visited my dad today – and while I was there, he showed me some of his recent sketches. He used to paint when I was younger. He took it up as a hobby, going to the local art club once a week.   Sometimes they’d be on the lookout for models, so I’d volunteer my services. I found it hard to stay still for an extended period, so I’d take a book to keep me occupied. This resulted in a shedload of pictures of me looking at my lap; probably not the sort of thing you’d want to grace your walls. (It’s worth clarifying that I did it fully-clothed.) My dad specialised in watercolours, though he’d also do the occasional in oils. He’d sell the odd one here and there; there were a few on permanent display at the carvery at the Gordon Craig Theatre, which I’d often go and look at when I went to their weekly drama club. (The theatre ran the drama club. Not the carvery; that would just be weird.) He shared a studio on Stevenage High ...