If a speech depends on nothing else, it depends on the crowd receiving it. The best thing about the speech I gave on Friday night was that I was facing not my usual crowd of stoney-faced academics, yearning for a coffee break, but a jubilant, recently-fed crowd with ready access to alcohol.

Perhaps I should serve cake at my viva voce.

For the uninitiated, I was best man at the wedding of Eamon and Lizzy at the weekend. The event was held in the grandest of venues, St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The synopsis is that the ceremony was glorious, and the bride stole the show. My main job was to keep Eamon standing and pointed in the
right direction for the day.

As per usual, I had been flying around in last-minute order getting haircuts, rehearsing ceremonies and collecting presents on the day before. There had been several sizeable setbacks, but these were
overcome with the power of love (and a flame thrower). For the most part, my duties had been completed some time ago, Eamon having been brought to stag in Dublin and North Wales.

The Wedding Day itself began early in Eamon’s House. A promise of Tootsie Royale cooking brekkie was the payout for an early morning journey, and delish it was too. Trips to town for cuff-links and
trimmed beards and socks left us dressed for the event with only minutes to spare.

The Groom’s party were all dressed in white cotton shirts and John Buform Memorial Club ties.

We had hoped to take a taxi to the door of the Cathedral, but our driver was a man of infinite shortcuts beset by transfinite traffic. A short dash through the gardens of the cathedral was the only way we got there near to time.

It has often been said that organising gamers is like herding hyperactive cats. The process of trying to get Mr.Target, Savage, Kindermord and I in the same seats at the same time was a powerful example. Due to late sword arrival, Savage was outside a lot; the Groom was doing his duty and
pressing flesh, but I was the one under the keen eye of the vicar, charged with timing.

It was a process of “I’ll go get him - No, stay here and I’ll get him” and so on. All through, I could see icecream popping up and firing off shots with his camera, and my mental “priest smiting photographer” guage was reaching the danger mark.

Everything settled down to the ceremony, where I was left on watch to notify Eamon of the approach of his dearest. I stood just behind him and to his right, with savage beside me and Target taking the extreme right.

The whole day was defined by being the first of the party to see Lizzy walking down, and to hear Eamon’s gasp as he turned at my signal. The poor man must have been on fire trying to keep his face forward as he heard the approaching bride. Still, he held out and all for the bettter.

The actual ceremony went very well, despite being out of order compared to the schedule and the rehearsal. We murdered the hymns - if I were a praying man I would be in penance for the
pain we have no doubt caused the innocent authors of those songs.

I didn’t drop the rings or get them stuck on my hand. Every time I looked at the floor, my grip felt less firm and the gratings looked more like deep, endless chasms into which I would doubtlessly cast the delicate bands of light.

The sword arch which savage organised turned out extremely well. Savage and I were lucky to have
the best view of the newly-minted couple sharing their first public kiss, and we avoided giving Eamon
an extra shave as he walked past.

There were some lovely pictures taken in the grounds of St. Patrick’s before we left for the reception. I’d like to apologise again for closed eyes / wayward limbs while we were posing.

The reception was held in a unique building. The house on Henrietta St. was pared back to a state in part of on-going restoration. The Early Georgian décor and large, echoing rooms made for a perfect feeling in character with the rest of the event.

There were speeches, drinks, excellent food and cigars. I elicited more wrath by leading Siskey, Lynn and BRO into dangerous, aunt-filled waters by taking main course food at an inopportune time. We had to exile ourselves to the garden in order to remain safe.

My own speech was rather a nice experience, despite the terror I felt. I felt that I stumbled through it, and it was all the harder to deliver some of the points with the happy couple standing on the stairs beside me … ready to push if I put a word wrong.

Thankfully, I had a generous and indulgent audience, and so I was not left with too much metaphorical tumbleweed.

The rest of the night is largely a blur, though I have distinct memories of Siskey running drunkenly down the street, and of Gorman securing a bottle of Jameson from what was doubtless the very most reputable licensee.

I’d like to extend my thanks again to Savage, Target and Honoraray Groomsman Tootsie for all the Honan-wrangling. I would like to thank everyone who attended either of the two events to honour Mr. Honan’s passing, and finally, I would like to thank Rose of Skye and Icecream for their photos.