Wedding Photos

I've managed to put up all the photos that I have from the wedding.
They are mighty... please note the De Lorean from back to the future. the lovely Caz hired it as a special gift to Phil for the wedding day. There are few times that I've seen Phil speechless, this was one of them.

Best Man's Speech

Here's my best man's speech. There is a video of me giving it that's being sent to me as I type.
I think it's the most nervous in the world I've ever been.

I did improvise on the night a bit, but this is pretty much the entire thing.

So, hi everybody!
(The crowd better reply with "HI! Dr Nick")

As I'm sure everyone will agree, it's been a brilliant day only marred by the next 5 minutes I'll be speaking.

As is customary, I would like to thank the caterers for the lovely meal and everyone here for helping to make this day special.

I also need to thank Phil on behalf of the bridesmaids Anna, Claire and Shona. They look absolutely radiant and are only outshone by the ravishing bride.
Frankly, we've done the best we can with Phil, at least he's in a suit.

My name is Omar and I shall be your best man for the evening. A task I do not take lightly. So much so that when Phil asked me to take up the mantle, I responded with a resounding "No!". Not a good start to any budding groom-best man partnership I think you'll all agree.
Fortunately, I quickly realised that part of the best man's duties was to embarrass Phil in a room full of his nearest and dearest, a situation I've been trying to engineer for years.

Unfortunately I've failed, I don't have a speech prepared. I have been racking my brains for the last month in search of something nice to say as well as some mild humiliation for the groom and I've come up blank.

When I fist sat down to write this speech I really needed some inspiration, I couldn't in all conscience spend it making boob and fart jokes, no matter how strongly Phil begged me.
I began by contemplating why Phil would choose me as a best man. Obviously it must be because of my tact, charm and devilish good looks. As a representative of the groom, he wants me to make a good impression for his assembled family and friends. That made me happy.

Then I actually started to jot down some notes and quickly realised that in all of the most incriminating stories that I know about Phil, I come off as badly as he does. The cheeky monkey was hedging his bets. Check-mate to Evans, or so you'd think. I just needed to work that bit harder to insult him properly.

So I thought to myself, I'll ask some of his friends and family, that should make it easier to convey the essence of Phil during the speech. The responses started off well with "He's a warm, funny, happy bloke" and "He's always been the life of a party". I then noted a couple of sinister comments declaring "I've never actually seen him do any work, he's always just there". I think you can guess where those comments came from, Phil.
Now I did giggle a bit when I found out that Phil's aunt had called him "flippy kippers" when he was younger. I thought that could bring out Phil's playful side but that inkling of hope was soon dashed when at the merest mention of Phil's name, one individual just muttered "round and hairy" over and over again.
I then gave up on playful anecdotes altogether when one of the last insights into Phil's very being was "oh God, he's lazy, stubborn and smells a bit". Even I protested on that one, but then again, I guess it's your parents that do know you best Phil.

So now I'm stuck with stories I can't tell and the impressions of friends that range from slander to downright lunacy and the wedding day was approaching quickly. I needed a new tack.
I thought about some themes for the speech using words like proud, responsible, ambitious, sexual conquistador but I could hardly structure an entire speech around "things Phil is not".

So, after mentally preparing myself with a very nice meal and a few drinks I sat down and really thought hard. What do I know about Phil really? Well he's almost entirely motivated by cheese products and I went to university with him. In fact, I first met Phil at Manchester, a fine educational institution to say the least. To my cost, I soon discovered that Phil knew little about the educational bit but alot about institutions.

Through a drunken haze of beer, crisps and occasional forays to lectures, my most endearing memory of him at university is his enthusiastic dancing, a feat I'm positive will be demonstrated later on this evening. I highly recommend requesting "Sit Down" by James if only to see an entire wedding party being forced to sit on the floor in time to the music.

However, my most burning memory of him is something I sincerely hopes he keeps for his wedding night or for a career in politics and that is his love of drag. Of all of my friends, I do not know any other who's face lights up at the thought of donning a dress and bounding off in search of Halloween adventure. More worryingly, of all my friends, he by far has the most ample cleavage.

The big day is now even closer, so what else do I know? Well, Phil spent his formative years in Ironbridge where he cultivated a love of both iron and bridges and where I'm also told he first came up with, what I consider his lifelong mantra.
As many will attest, Phil is not the most shy and retiring man on this earth. In fact, he positively loves talking. So much so that there was a moment in the ceremony where I really did think he'd follow "I do" with "and let me tell you why".

But I digress... the mantra. If everyone can please imagine Phil as a child. A wee scrap of a lad, probably playing in some mud. Now imagine young flippy kippers wearing a flowerpot on his head... now set him into motion breaking everything in sight. Destruction of crockery, furniture and even family pets. And now finally imagine Phil triumphantly sauntering up to his parents and announcing "I done damage". A sentiment that I hear plagues his work colleagues still.
Well Phil, the only damage you've done today is to the wedding pictures and I'm sure photoshop can fix that.

So I'm stuck. I've been standing here for the last 5 minutes with nothing to say. So let this be a lesson to all aspiring best men, if the only achievements of your groom are to have married a fantastic woman, occasionally provided amusement and to have been a great friend over the years, politely decline and save yourself the stress.

In all seriousness though… Thank you all for listening.
Phil, it has been a great honour to have been your best man here today, but more importantly to have known you as a friend over the last 10 years.

I sincerely wish you the happiest of marriages and may our friendship continue for many years to come.

Before I finish with the toast, I'd like to prove to you all that I have done the research for this speech. On this very day in 1945 the Potsdam declaration was signed declaring that if Japan did not surrender it would face "prompt and utter destruction". Phil, think of yourself as Japan.

<TOAST>

It's been a while

Yes, yes, yes... My posts have been few and far between but I've had alot on my plate!
The big news from this weekend has been my friend Phil's wedding for which I was best man (see previous stag do post).

It was a fantastic day in which I did not screw up once! Aren't you all proud?

Over the next couple of days I shall be posting the best man paraphernalia that I've used in crafting my speech as well as some pictures and videos.

In the mean time I've attached a couple of teaser shots.

A weekend of burning and shooting

I have returned from a weekend in a field with 20 other men, all good and strong. You guessed it, two days of unwashed, testosterone fuelled manliness with guns thrown into the mix.
I get ahead of myself though, let me add some context.

I have been selected as the man that is above all other men; the ideal that lesser mortals aspire to; the Best Man. Over the months since Phil has graciously offered this role, I have pondered the reasoning for this choice and I have it distilled to three potential reasons:

1. Wanton Omar-Love - I am pretty damn snuggly after all
2. Temporary/Permanent Insanity - Phil does love the chillies and I think I know why
3. A Trap - There is no wedding. This is all a ruse designed to capture me and test out the latest in Omar-flinging devices

Reasoning aside, being asked to best man such a personal part of a friend's life is such a huge honour and I am deliriously happy, proud, and other sentiments that I feel more comfortable displaying through the veil of a blog lest I damage my shield of stoic manliness in person.
So before I get into the meat of the "Harm On The Farm" Stag Weekend, I would like to thank Phil for the free meal he'll be providing, the opportunity to insult him in front of his family and friends and wish him all types of fabulousness for his impending nuptials.

So I digress, time for the main event. We begin at the beginning on the day of June the 27th in the year of our Lord 2008. Our location is a field in the vicinity of Oxford. I was one of the last to arrive, my means of conveyance, the joyous camper van of death. An orange and white beast of a vehicle that threatens obliteration with every corner and almost every application of the breaks. Due to the confines of my job I had to depart after work and was therefore the last to arrive on that perky Friday.
I must digress another time to give very honourable mention to my blonde, top 1000 buddy John for assisting in the acquisition of the camper van, driving duties and also supply of the most manly gazebo in the existence of garden accessories. John, I salute you!
On my arrival, I was met with a sight that filled me with erotic dread. A field of tents, a line of cars, a medium sized fire, and men that had been drinking since 3pm. Truly if there ever was a more volatile combination, it would have to include cheese of ancient evil (Available from a curio shop that exists on Muswell Hill, in this dimension).
The Friday evening was a most pleasant affair consisting of acquainting myself with new friends and catching up with old friends. Much booze was imbibed, stories told and an not insignificant amount of wood burned... only wood for this evening.
Hiring a field is a gentlemanly affair. No fascist camp site rules, no health and safety and only one or two downsides. Showering was an impossibility due to the water supply consisting of a tap, and the bathroom facilities were a tad basic, and by basic I mean akin to a scene from Deliverance.
As men do round a fire, songs were sung, guitars played and stories told. As the Friday turned into Saturday, the darkness descended, which coupled with the brisk country air and numerous bottles of spirits encouraged a more primeval part in all of us to awaken. We did not plumb the depths of naked tribal dancing, but fire walking was on the cards. Striking a pose while perched precariously on a piece of burning wood is now the benchmark for dapper behaviour.
The Saturday began full of promise... which starts this paragraph more ominously than it needs to be. I will give away the ending to this tale by saying that nothing untoward happened and as I understand it, an excellent time had by all. Sorry for the spoiler but back to Saturday morning nonetheless.
Bacon was cooking, tea was brewing and the gallant drinkers emerged from their bulbous body odour inflated tents a little meeker than the night previous. We dined heartily under the blazing sunshine that all of us had fervently prayed for the preceding weeks with only one insignificant mishap consisting of the stag, a bale of hay, and a startle. A story I may be persuaded to tell at another time.
The plan for the day was to take in some country scenery from the safety of our field, locate another field where the shooting of the clay was to take place and then back to the original field for the cooking of meats and the drinking of ales. This was indeed a field oriented expedition.
The first part of our mission was to find the clay killing fields. This sounds mundane and unworthy of my literary retelling, but the instructions provided to us were cryptic at best. Any driving instructions that navigate by car showrooms and descriptions of hairpin bends should be referred to as a scavenger hunt rather than anything more useful. The convoy of city interlopers travelled through the winding country lanes carving out only minor mayhem when the lead car decided that all native drivers of this area had been sedated, probably by invading aliens, and were required to be run off the road.
Needless to say, we found the place and had arrived a good half hour early. This was an event populated by men... tardiness is not in our nature. On arrival, the shooting instruction was top notch, and the trucker hat safety gear set the tone. As well as the usual warnings of the propensity for maiming and death if guns were improperly handled, we were all provided with some anti-clay propaganda to steel our collective nerve against the enemy of the day. You'll all be glad to hear that the earth was again saved from clay pigeon subjugation by a merry band of reprobates and scallywags. I will accept payment for your freedoms in buxom wenches.
I am sorry to say that my performance at the three shooting challenges laid before us was uninspiring. My good lady will be unhappy to hear that in a zombie barricade situation, we would most likely be overrun unless her Northern Irish heritage provided an innate shotgun wielding skill. The stag put in a mightily mediocre performance with 50% of targets hit. A score, he informs me, he's "alright about". If the chillies' side effects are anything to go by, he's a lover not a fighter. Of course, when I write "lover" I actually misspell "drunk chimp" (Just killing Phil, I'm only practising for the speech).
This is the part in the tale where I'd like to taper off. As is tradition with the celebration of the stag, the lore is enhanced by rumour and speculation; the motto for the weekend being "What happened on the farm, stays on the farm". Worry not though, the Phil has been returned in one piece, if a little bruised and in need of a good wash.
I will fuel the scandalous chatter with a few of my personal highlights:

• Hay burns well... very well
• Car suspensions are hardier than I first thought
• A bi-hourly head-soaking fends off the demons of drunk
• The simple telling of a story beats any contact sport... if uninterrupted

I now hand off to the next best man for whom the responsibility for the continuation of stag lore resides.