Champagne by Sam Smith

‘To the happy couple. I wish I was as lucky as you.’

Derek raised his glass then proceeded to drain it, despite asking one of the impeccably dressed waitresses to refill it without any semblance of a smile on his face only thirty seconds before making his speech. He sat down and wondered where that waitress was now and if she was single. No one at the reception clapped.

The father of the bride, a grey-haired lorry driver, whom was quite an imposing figure due to being near enough to seven foot tall that it didn’t really matter if that measurement was an inch off either way, got up from his seat on the other side of the long table decorated with white ribbons and lumbered over to Derek. He bent down, almost touching Derek’s forehead with his own.

‘Wasn’t much of a best man’s speech. Give it another go,’ growled the father. He walked back over to his seat next to his daughter, flashing her a grin that he was well known for.

The waitress came back over and poured more champagne into Derek’s glass. He sighed and tapped it with a fork as he stood up.

‘I have been informed that some of you may have been expecting a more ostentatious speech from me and have been left feeling disappointed or wanting,’ he announced, slightly louder than he needed to. ‘I apologise. I was utilising an avant-garde approach to the situation, an unpretentious way to show Stuart, my oldest friend and his new wife, Karen, how much I care about them both and wish them the best in their new life together. I would like to offer an explanation of my previous speech in an attempt to demonstrate what I meant. When I said that I wish I was as lucky as Stuart and Karen, I meant that they are one of the happiest couple I have ever had the pleasure of sharing a car journey with. Late last year, we drove up to Liverpool to visit an old university friend of our, whom I am sorry to say could not be here with us today. On that drive up, I was treated to countless examples of heart-wrenchingly sweet displays of affecting between the couple. Even though it was incredibly dangerous to do while driving, they held hands almost the whole journey. They sang along to three different Beach Boys CDs, harmonising beautifully with each other. A multitude of devastatingly intimate nicknames were shared between the two, including “honey cake”, “huggy bug” and, my personal favourite, “smoochie bum”. It was a pleasure to have such a loving pair of soul mates as friends, and what an honour to see it from the back seat of a Ford Fiesta, where I was desperately sending texts to my recent ex-girlfriend to reconsider breaking up with the skiing instructor she had left me for and coming back. When I said that I wish I was as lucky as Stuart and Karen, I really meant it. But obviously, such a short and laboured-over dialogue goes against the conventions of what I have been asked to do. I suppose that I really am quite lucky, as I have been allowed to “give it another go”. So, without further ado, I present my amended best man’s speech,’ Derek cleared his throat. ‘Karen couldn’t spell the word “wedding” if she tried. I have seen Stuart take a shit in a carrier bag on three separate occasions. To the happy couple. I wish I was as lucky as you.’

Derek raised his glass once more and poured the champagne down his throat. He sat down. No one at the reception clapped.