It's Official: I Am The Best

My brother announced a couple of days ago that he's getting married. To a girl. A real one.

My initial reaction was naturally "YAY! Free party!" as is my wont on such occasions.

But now the hammer blow has struck. I have been requested to be Best Man. Now, I haven't been "best" anything since winning the Knobbly Knees contest at Butlins, aged 7, so this has come as quite a shock.

What was to be a carefree jaunt across the country to get riotously drunk, insult my new sister-in-law and then high-tail it out of there has now taken an altogether more sinister turn.

I will now be expected to arrange a stag night, stay reasonably sober on the day of the wedding, make speeches, not lose the rings, and flirt outrageously with bridesmaids.

On the upside, my son Monkey has succeeded in his quest to be allowed to be page boy, just so he can wear a suit and flirt with any bridesmaids I may miss.