A labelled sample. Dan, Hannah, Sue, Rob, Chris, the bridesmaids and the goat are made up, and so are the stories; a real speech is written only from the stories you send. About 634 words, five minutes read out loud. Written from these notes: “Thank Hannah's parents Sue and Rob, my mum, people who flew from Perth. Met at a pub quiz, she corrected my answer and we lost anyway. Knew when she drove 3 hrs to bring my dad's watch back from the garage. She says ‘right, plan’ when things go wrong. Toast the bridesmaids.”
Sample groom's speech: Dan and Hannah
Good evening, everyone. For anyone who hasn't worked it out from the suit, I'm Dan, and as of about four hours ago I am Hannah's husband, which is a sentence I have been practising in the mirror since February and still can't say without grinning.
Before anything else, the thank-yous, and I'll keep them short, because Hannah has told me that if this runs past six minutes she is taking the microphone. Sue and Rob, thank you. You have hosted today, you have hosted me most weekends for four years, and Sue, every flower in this room is yours, and everybody has noticed. Rob, the bar is yours, and everybody has noticed that too. Mum, thank you for everything, and I mean everything, including the lift to the station this morning when the taxi didn't come. Uncle Pete and Jan flew from Perth to be here, which is twenty-two hours in the air for a four-minute speech, so I'll try to make it worth it. Chris, my best man, thank you for the suits, the rings, and for the speech you are about to give, which I have not been allowed to see. And to the bridesmaids, Amy, Jo and Priya, who got Hannah to the church on time, which nobody in this room thought was possible: thank you. I'll come back to you.
We met at a pub quiz. Hannah was on the other team. In round three she leaned over, told me my answer was wrong, and she was right, and we lost anyway, because it turns out being right is not the same as winning. I have been losing to her, happily, ever since.
I knew about a year in. My dad's watch, the one I'd worn every day since he died, had gone in for repair at a place three hours away, and the shop rang to say it was ready on a Friday I couldn't get there. I came home on the Saturday and it was on the kitchen table. She had driven six hours there and back, on her day off, and when I asked why she said, “Well, you needed it.” That is Hannah. She works out what you need and then she does it, and then she doesn't make it a thing.
Living with her, you learn that nothing is ever a disaster. The boiler goes, the car fails its MOT, the flight gets cancelled in Lisbon at midnight, and there is a pause, and then she says, “Right. Plan.” And there is a plan. I have never once seen the plan not work. I have seen it involve a night bus, a borrowed tent and, on one occasion, a goat, but it has always worked.
Hannah, I'm going to look at you now, so everyone else can look at the flowers for a minute. You make me better at this. At all of it. I was a man who put things off and you are a woman who says “right, plan”, and somehow between us we have built a life I would not have dared to draw. I promise to keep learning the plan. I promise to bring you tea before you have asked for it. I promise that when the boiler goes, I will say “right, plan” first, so you don't have to. And I promise that I will keep losing the quiz to you for the rest of my life, and keep enjoying it.
Now, the bridesmaids. Amy, Jo and Priya have known Hannah longer than I have, and they have been generous enough to pretend she was ever as much trouble as they said she was. They have looked after her today and, to be honest, most days. So would everyone please stand, raise your glasses, and join me. To the bridesmaids.
The reading copy that comes with a real order is the same words in large type, one sentence per line, with a “(pause)” before the part to her and before the toast.
£39 in the UK (VAT included) · A$75 · C$65. Ready in 1 day. One free round of changes.