Saturday saw the wedding of the year - with me as 'Best Man'. Can you imagine anyone less well equipped for the role? Me either.
Anyway, it all went pretty smoothly - despite the major panic that seemed to set in for the bridegroom as the event approached.
At the dinner table I was seated next to the groom's father - a lovely old Ulsterman with a questionable past. He was explaining to me - at length - about how he had been a 'bad lad' when he was growing up.
"You know I had to leave Belfast when I was 14?" he told me. "I'd held up a local factory with a shotgun and stolen their wagepackets, so it was time to leave."
"Gosh," said I. "That's, erm, great"
He then alluded to having something to do with the Birmingham pub bombings - which I presume was a drunken 'boast' - but by this point the musical 'entertainer' had arrived. As the music guy got into his set the Groom's father turned to me again...
"This guy is terrible" he said.
"Someone needs to shoot him" he continued, in his thick Ulster brogue.
I've never felt so sorry for a wedding singer.
I hope he made it home without being jumped by men in balaclavas.....