Bruce, Dennis and Roger


priv·i·lege \ˈpriv-lij, ˈpri-və-\

1. a right or benefit that is given to some people and not to others;

2. a special opportunity to do something that makes you proud.


In my life, I’ve had the privilege to do some incredible things.

Go to university, meet wonderful people, learn about languages and cultures, visit fantastic places…. the list goes on.

Some have taken personal effort to achieve and some have simply happened through chance but I know that no matter the origin of such fantastic things, the privilege I feel is genuine. I am always humbly grateful of everything – no matter how it occurs.

A few days ago, the nutter holding the cake in this picture (who sometimes goes by the name of Bruce – but usually Richard) invited me round to his house. We were talking innocently about general ‘man’ things as the food he’d prepared was finishing off. We laughed about camping trips and dog walks and PlayStation and our mate called Dennis. A couple more mates of ours turned up a little later and we had a fun (but relatively ordinary) evening.

Later, whilst reaching for the fridge, Rich explained how he had something to say. Thinking it was merely a trivial thing I began to turn away. It wasn’t until Rich explained how what he had to say was important that I froze. This was bloody serious! I half expected him to say that he and Becs, his fiancée, were expecting a baby*!

* (By the way if either of you are reading this and you are pregnant, ‘Stephen‘ is a beautiful name that means ‘crown’ in Greek and is a popular choice for super cool people!) 

Out of the fridge came a cake (with a tad too much jam – even though it actually tasted really good). It was at that point that I was asked to be a co-best man with Nathan (far right of picture) with Ian (far left of picture) to be an usher. After standing silently for at least 2 minutes, the only thing I could think to do was do shake my pal’s hand and give him a hug. To be fair, the hug was his idea but I gladly agreed to the suggestion.

We sang Don’t Look Back in Anger and ate spag bol until around 11 o’clock but, as great as the night was, the question he asked was still repeating in my ears. Repeating…. but not sinking in! In fact I’m still struggling to comprehend the evening right now. I don’t suppose it’ll sink in until September of this year when he ties the knot and Nathan and I are expected to tell stories about him without swearing.

I’ve always known what I’d do for Rich should I ever be asked to be his best man and now that the conditional tense has become definite, I can’t wait to give the boy the best send off I can.

A proper privilege indeed.

I don’t cry too often….



13 days later he read this blog….



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