mostly david ephgrave

I’m finding it difficult to source the energy to be creative at the moment. The root of the cause, put simply, is it’s been a difficult few months, which have yet to become significantly less challenging. This, combined with a truckload of extra Mostly Comedys (including our shows in St Albans, which kick off this week) have made it hard to devote the requisite headspace to get on with any writing. There's also no-one to chivvy me along or tell me when I’m doing well, which makes it hard to approach what I’m doing with enthusiasm and confidence; that’s not to say I haven’t got a few bits on the back-burner that show promise (and no-one wants to burn their back-bits) though my brain’s so frazzled, I can only work for a few minutes at a time before I’m spent. I feel like a student who’s behind on his coursework, yet can’t be bothered to get on with it, except it’s not so much a case of not being bothered as feeling no-one else cares about what I

Today I walked past Richard Herring in my local garage, marking the first time I’ve seen him outside of a gig since he moved to the area. It’s funny, as Glyn and I asked him only last week how he’d got on since moving this way, with both of us privately remarking how we hadn’t spotted him at all since he’s been nearby, which was surprising considering he apparently often comes to Hitchin to shop with his wife (and not for one) Spin forward a few days and I’m practically bumping into him in my local shop; it’s a good job we didn’t start wrestling over the last pint of milk. I didn’t say hello, purely because he walked through the door at the precise moment I was leaving, with barely time to do a double-take before the chance had gone. It was ironic really, as I was just thinking I hadn’t sent him an email to thank him for last week’s gig and there he was, like I’d performed some kind of modern-day stand-up-based Bloody Mary witchcraft to make him ap

While I’m not often one for joining in with these things, I found myself succumbing to the lure of #FirstHeadshotDay / #OldHeadshotDay today on Twitter. Face (c)1981 David Ephgrave; photo (c) Mark Davis (2002) When I saw my first CV photo again, which was taken in 2002, it struck me just how young I look. I remember the shoot clearly, because getting your first headshot when you leave drama school is a very big moment. It was taken by MAD Photography’s Mark Davis in the studio in his house in Enfield. I think I shared the shoot with my actress friend Moya, though I may be misremembering it. I know I was nervous, probably more about keeping my hair intact than anything. The moment that sticks in my mind the most was when the photographer tried to get me to smile with my mouth open, which I don’t really do, and me feeling very uncomfortable and forced about it. “But you look like Stan Laurel when you don't", was his considered respo

Today’s Mostly Comedy was strange in that it just sort of happened, despite a slow and disconnected set-up. Hal Cruttenden and Richard Herring; two comics in love. Part of the problem for me was I haven’t recovered from the shock of my dad’s sudden illness at the end of last week, which nearly proved fatal, to improve just as suddenly at it had hit (he says in a gross simplification for the sake of a simple paragraph). Now the adrenalin's settled, I'm feeling brain-shot and anxious, which aren’t ideal bedfellows for doing stand-up in a crowded room; consequently, it took a little while to adapt to the noise, which was a little overwhelming for my mind-state. Despite not feeling my best, I insisted on doing a couple of new bits, if only to start ticking things off the list. It's more for the sake of getting material in my head at first than seeing it if it works, as it’s all more likely to land well when it’s properly learnt. It was pleasing to see we were pret

It’s testament to Paul McCartney’s extraordinary talent that a song like Mama’s Little Girl could remain unreleased for nearly twenty years, to turn up as a b-side that’s little more than a career footnote and yet still be so hauntingly pretty with it. Mama’s Little Girl’s like the coy younger sister to the White Album’s Mother Nature’s Son that kept herself out of the limelight; these “sitting with an acoustic in the countryside on a beautiful summer’s day” finger-picking ditties are peppered throughout his career and have always been something he does with such ease. It’s strange in retrospect that it took him so long to decamp to the farm he bought in Scotland in the mid-sixties when the lifestyle fits him so perfectly; I guess he was just to busy being a Beatle to make the most of it. There’s a whole subsection to Macca's songwriting that full of this stuff - from Heart of the Country to I Lie Around to Calico Skies - that all sound so effortless; they just seem to f

Today, I did what few people in their right mind would do: I had my hair cut by a trainee barber. The problem with the above statement is the word “trainee” encompasses a vast spectrum; they may be on the cusp of receiving their barbers’ qualification (with the final E of “trainee” about to slip back a single letter to spell “trained”) or that may have had a single lesson before you climbed into the chair (the vital “They’re called scissors” chat). There’s just no way of telling until a sizeable percentage of your hair makes that final fateful voyage from head to floor, and your tears have made a similar journey. Now normally, if you asked me the question, “Would you be happy for me to cut your hair though I’m still in training?” on any given day, I’d scream, “Absolutely”, followed by, “NO FUCKING WAY.” For someone who may appear to spend seconds on my barnet, I’m actually rather precious about it; on the very few days I don’t wash it, I se

I went to visit my dad in hospital in Cambridge today and, considering how things were just three days ago - and how bleak the prognosis was - the improvement is pretty damn miraculous; it’s the Second Coming in an Ephgrave sense. This only serves to illustrate how incredible the human body is and what it can cope with. It’s also a reminder of what an excellent job the NHS does (which was something I wrote about a few days ago). Without a couple of well-meaning nurses giving my dad some medication towards the end of Friday primarily to make him comfortable he may very well have not been with us today; it just goes to show you what a crapshoot life is, to use a ostensibly negative word in a positive sense; it’s all just a succession of small decisions which add up to make a whole, for good or for bad; I can only be eternally grateful things turned out as they did as they very nearly didn’t. The hospital in Cambridge (Addenbrooke’s) is pretty space-a

I’m a little depressed by the number of people who opted for a refund as a result of the change to Thursday’s scheduled Mostly Comedy line-up, as it serves to illustrate how many come these days for a specific name. The substitution's a suitable one, with Richard Herring appearing in place of James Acaster. If anything, Richard’s a bigger name in terms of longevity, and while he admittedly played the club twice last year he’s always hugely popular here. That’s not to say he isn’t still , as a sizeable percentage snapped up tickets that had returned to sale once the change was announced, but no sooner were they bought than more refunds were processed, leaving us with a costly stalemate. We wouldn’t normally be in a position where we’d need to offer money back, as we seldom advertise events with a headliner. The fact we present mixed bills and always state our line-ups may be subject to change would normally protect us; the only reason we’re in this pickle is because the other

The level of care the NHS achieves despite having Jeremy Hunt at the helm and such terrible funding is exceptional. They're vital, and yet the press and our Government abuse them; what’s more important to us than the heath of the people we care about? My dad went into hospital yesterday with a condition that escalated rapidly while I was by his side in A&E and on the ward, and the kindness and efficiency of every doctor, nurse or staff member we came into contact with was something else. This is the fourth occasion I’ve been witness to a situation like this - though yesterday’s was the most extreme - and the story’s been the same each time; this extends to when I've been a patient too. This consistency only reinforces what an exceptional service the National Health provides; for me, my dad's treatment was obviously of paramount importance, yet our hospitals see a never-ending stream of people in need, with friends and family to whom

Today, Glyn and I visited a museum in London where we’re likely to be hosting a one-off Mostly Comedy in June (as if we don’t enough Mostly Comedys to contend with in the near future). When you’re approached to run a club by a venue that doesn’t usually stage theatrical events you can never be quite sure if they’ve considered fully how you need a focused space. This was even a problem at one of Mostly’s past long-term homes; this particular venue was managed by two people, one of whom was 100% onboard with our requirements, while I suspect the other had pictured it more like a musical open mic night with someone strumming away on a guitar in the corner while the audience drank and chatted away. That kind of set-up is bad enough when you’re playing music - I’ve done enough gigs like that myself, believe me - but it's disastrous for comedy, which requires complete attention to work; you can’t build a story with people coming and going, both literally and

Today was long but productive, even if was filled predominantly with admin. What pleased me most was I managed to do a little work on some material that, while brief, felt promising; at least I seem to be slowly and gently heading in the right direction with it. I’m trying to do just the right amount of tinkering with ideas without working for so long I become stale and frazzled with it, which suits my currently slightly battle-worn brain. My main mission today was to try and settle an issue regarding medication that had been prescribed to me by the specialist I saw about my constant dizziness a few weeks ago , which ran out yesterday, but I couldn’t get a repeat because the write-up for my appointment hadn’t been forwarded to my GP yet and I had no clear record of what had taken place. While all parties concerned were extremely helpful it still took two phone calls to the hospital where I had my appointment, two calls to 111 to seek authorization

Lowery is the closest thing we’ve had to a classic University Challenge contestant this series, though his old-fashioned garb doesn’t provoke as much hilarity as a single, extreme facial expression from Monkman. Oh, how I miss Monkman and his Monkmanny ways, which made each appearance comedy gold. There just hasn’t been anything to match that this year, which is very disappointing as it’s the only reason I watch it, really; I crave as many self-conscious students on the programme as possible to at least make me feel a little better about myself; when it comes to University Challenge, I’m a selfish audience member. Even though this year’s series hasn’t excited me as much I still persist with the live tweeting most nights. Here’s tonight’s Twitter record… 8:33PM: Woodland: eyebrows like inverted commas. 8:34PM: Lowery, sponsored by affectation. 8:37PM: Thomas' hobbies include taxidermy, trapping animals with the intention

Today, I finally got around to a job I've been meaning to do for weeks and pulled together a few paragraphs about this year's Edinburgh show to form the basis of a press release for it. I haven't let the title slip here yet as far as I'm aware, so now's as good a time as any: my fourth solo show (and third solo EdFringe affair) is called 'David Ephgrave: My Part in His Downfall' . I toyed with a few other possibilities - and very nearly went with 'David Ephgrave's Chortle Enemy' - but am ultimately happy with my final choice, which offers a fair amount of scope. It's a concept that makes me laugh, which is half the battle won really - and while it obviously has a slight Spike Milligan aftertaste the joke's a little different, and I like how it suggests I'm only prepared to take partial credit for my misdemeanours. The copy so far is an early draft that doesn't include any of my credits and hasn't been worked over by my PR,

Controversially, one of my favourite Wings albums is their final one, Back to the Egg, and one of my favourite songs on it is the soulful groove-driven 'Arrow Through Me'. I was surprised, on hearing the episode of ‘Take It Away: The Complete Paul McCartney Podcast’ devoted to the album to hear the show’s hosts say they didn’t like Macca’s vocal performance on this song when, for me, it’s part of what makes it so good; it fits the feel of it perfectly. I really favour the sound of Paul’s voice around this time, particularly on the more belty numbers, as there’s more grit in there than usual (a sound he definitely plays with on this song, despite it being less of a rocker). I only learnt recently that 'Arrow Through Me' doesn’t have any guitars on it, not even a bass, which I also found surprising, as there's a warmth to the recording that you wouldn’t expect from an almost entirely keyboard-based number. What makes the song for

…and then this random guy stood in for him. I have a number of questions Re. Julia Quenzler’s artistic representation of Courtroom Cliff, but one in particular's at the top of the list: why, when he’s one of the most famous faces in popular culture from the past sixty years, does the picture look like she’d never clapped eyes on him? It’s not like he’s a member of public who had remained anonymous right up to the moment he stepped into the dock; he’s Cliff fucking Richard. Except Cliff wouldn’t be fucking Richard, because that would make him gay and he ABSOLUTELY DEFINITELY ISN’T. Even if by some bizarre twist of fate the artist had never seen Cliff before, that’s still no excuse. According to the article he was in the dock for over an hour, so she had plenty of time to capture his likeness. I’ve heard of people having difficulty drawing hands or feet, but if you can’t draw faces, you probably shouldn’t be a courtroom artist. If it were an identikit picture, the

So, today was the day we booked Harry Hill for Mostly Comedy. I’m well aware I just started a sentence with the word ‘so’, which is one of my personal bugbears, but I feel it’s appropriate in this context, on account of the fact it’s really quite impressive. I’ve been hoping to book him at Mostly for years, and it was in the last few months that it looked more likely it might happen eventually, but I didn’t expect it to be so soon; it’s certainly a lovely way to see us into our Summer break (when I’ll be in Edinburgh, so it’s less of a break for me). Glyn and I met him once briefly, back in 2007, when I was doing the adult panto The Emperor’s Newd Clothes (which was a very clever joke) at Wycombe Town Hall on the same night he was on in the main house. We shared a quick exchange on walking past him backstage, tucking into his complimentary sandwiches; I can’t remember what was said now, as it was all so quick. My favourite moment of the evening was

Today, Glyn and I visited St Albans’ Maltings Arts Theatre - our soon-to-be sister venue for Mostly Comedy - for a quick onceover of their tech set-up so we’re prepared for the first gig in three weeks. We met with the venue’s tech manager, who was super-organised, much like the venue itself. It’s such a pleasant change to visit somewhere that’s the epitome of tidiness and order that has absolutely everything we need in-house. Mostly Comedy should fit the space like a glove, provided we sell enough tickets to make the night work. Sales are healthy - particularly for the last of the three dates with Reginald D Hunter and Hattie Hayrldge - but they could be better; it’s just hard to establish the night quickly when we’re at the mercy of a location without a constant footfall, despite being so close to the shopping centre’s multistory carpark. The good thing is we still have a few weeks to sell the first show. Organsing the first Mostly Comedy Festiva