The Best Man for the Job

I am in the midst of the process of attempting to write a Best Man’s speech.  It is something I believe I can make a decent fist of – I have written many, mostly for other people to chance their arm with, but this one is for me: I am the Best Man.  It is me who must walk the tightrope between humorous ribbing and indignation, between laughter and mumbled displeasure, between heroism and humiliation.  Embarrassing the groom is the principal duty of the Best Man, but the risk of causing offence seems much more real with people you know and love.  I know instinctively exactly how far I can push this particular groom – he is my brother – but what of his new wife and his prospective mother-in-law?  What if they take offence on his behalf?  I do not know them nearly as well.  What if they have gangland connections or handbags filled with gravel?

I do not, of course, have any intention of causing upset – insult is an extremely lazy way of writing jokes – but I do find myself pawing over every line in case there is offence to be found by anyone who may seek to find it.  I think I’ve got it right: a small amount of schmaltz, a short string of gently embarrassing one-liners, a toast and out.  This is blitzkrieg speech-making.

I have never been a confident public speaker.  I fear that I may mumble and, consequently, I seek to over-compensate by shouting.  Microphones terrify me.  I cannot moderate: I either whisper in the belief that the electronics will make me audible or I persist in shouting in case it doesn’t work, setting hearing aids ringing and loosening dental fillings throughout the room.  I think that I know when a joke works, but still do not have the courage to wait for a laugh.  And when a joke does not work I panic, editing on the hoof and excising anything that I fear may suffer a similar fate.  The mumbling, stumbling gap between me standing and sitting can become very short indeed.  (Even more demoralising than the banger received in silence is to give the same joke to somebody else who gets a decent laugh from it.  There is no doubt, it’s the way you tell ‘em.)  Come the day, having removed anything that might cause offence and employed a mid-speech panic-ridden précis of my discourse, it is possible that I will be left with very little that I am able to offer in the space between the buffet and the first dance.

Even worse is the knowledge that I enjoy a certain ‘reputation’ among my family.  It is not the first time I have done this, and for many of the same people.  I cannot use the tried and tested, because they really have heard it all before.  On the day, my confidence to deliver what almost certainly will have become a short, humourless dissertation will be minimal so I print up whatever I have at this point in a font size that can be read from outer space.

There have been times when, awash with unaccustomed confidence (gin) I have crushed it, but more often than not I simply read out my script, meticulously and tediously, word-for-word, draining all life from it like some kind of comedic vampire.  This time I have a plan.  I will limit my edits: is it mean, would it offend me, is it funny?  I am looking for a ‘no’, ‘no’, ‘yes’ scenario, in which case it will remain where it is.  I will print myself a list of key words and ‘highlights’ to guide me on my way and if I stumble, at least it will not sound as if I am reading the ingredients from a frozen ready meal.  If the only laughs I get are as the result of my incompetence, well, they’re still laughs.

And then I start to think about the kind of arrogance that allows me to believe that the speech (written by me) is of sufficiently quality to be ‘spoiled’ by the off-kilter delivery of a buffoon (also me).  What if the speech itself is tripe?  How would I know?  Best Man’s jokes often rely on surprise and you only get that once.  A public read-through will kill it.  I have to rely on an instinct that is about as reliable as a Reform UK guarantee. 

I can feel the panic welling inside me, but the wedding is weeks away yet and, here’s the thing: it is just a wedding speech.  Nobody wants to see failure.  People will laugh.  Ineptitude will be my friend: everybody likes to watch the bridegroom writhe, however clumsily the jibes are delivered.  I know that I will rewrite the bloody thing a thousand times and, eventually, deliver something completely different to that I have written down.  Nerves will prickle for the next few weeks because I do want to make my brother pleased that he chose me.  I need to prove, after all, that I really am the Best Man for the job…