So, this is the end ?

Many years ago, when I married, I asked a university friend called Matt, to be my best man.

We had our ups and downs over the years; my wife and he did not get along, which made my position difficult, but by and large I steered a reasonable path. Matt’s dad split when he was young, leaving his mother to bring him up. She did a pretty decent job of it, but, being a woman, there was inevitably a female focus.

For instance, I would expect girlfriends to be a bit emotional or touchy, but I wouldn’t expect that from men. But that’s what I often got from Matt. Anyway, you learn to make allowances. And over the years, I went out on a limb for him in a number of different ways.

So, some months ago, he announces, somewhat out of the blue, that he’s getting married. It soon became clear, that this bolt out of the blue, was a doctor, and his oft protested love for her (way too oft protested, who was he trying to convince?) was in my view, love of her salary. She was a fairly plain girl, homely and nice enough though a little tedious, dumpy and quiet for me. She was in no way exciting or anything like many of the previous better looking, more interesting but poorer girlfriends.

But each to his own. If she can’t see the truth for what it is, fine, and if he’s happy being a himbo (i.e. male bimbo) good luck to them. Anyway, he says, “will you be best man” and of course I answered in the affirmative. It’s in some hellish Northern slum like Sheffield or Huddersfield, and lots of Yorkshire dolts for guests but okay. Anyway, preparations are well under way, I’ve got the suit, confirmed the attendance, booked the hotel room and bought some crappy gifts off the wedding list, as well as written a slightly dodgy best man speech

So, the stag night comes around last weekend, and I’m laid up with some kinda virus. Can’t work, can’t hit the gym, can’t eat, can stand up, freezing ~ not lethal by any means but debilitating, so I tell him I can’t go to the stag night.

Three days before the wedding, I get a text saying it’s best I don’t come to the wedding !

In some ways this is probably a good thing, because I was increasingly getting the feeling I’d outgrown him, and I wasn’t certain how to proceed, but all the same, desperately disappointing.