Part One - "The Best Man"

"Ladies and gentlemen, please be upstanding and raise your glasses. To the bride and groom"

"The bride and groom" chimed the thronged masses - just as all the previous thronged masses had done before - this was followed by the sound of clinking of glasses, then of glasses being put back on their tables and then finally, almost apologetically, of a belated round of applause as they realised I'd finished my bit. I nodded politely as some of the people raised their glasses to me and I grinned at the Groom as he slapped me on the back for not giving away too many of his deepest and darkest secrets.

As I sat down, a thought occurred to me, why had he been so worried? What possible dirt was I going to spread? I barely knew the bloke. No, correction, I didn't know the bloke, not at all. And certainly I didn't know anything about deep dark secrets hidden in his past (but to be honest, looking at him, I didn't think he had any).

How the fuck had it got to this? Some people spend their weekends playing football or going to the theatre or even fucking train spotting. But not me, I spend my weekends being Best Man at weddings for people I don't know, people I've never met before, sad people who have no friends.

OK, so there may be a nice slap-up meal, a free glass (or several) of champagne, but trust me it soon begins to get a bit dull, and then it gets tedious, and then it gets as if you never want to see another chicken chasseur again otherwise you're likely to shove it up the groom's arse.

The waiters were bringing over the plates to our table (the good thing about being best man is that you usually get served first) and as they put it down in front of me I realised what it was they were serving.

"Mmmmm, yummy, chicken chasseur" said the Bride with clear delight in her eyes.

I just smiled, nodded and started eating my food.

"The Best Man" is copyright Angus Burns 2006.