Weddings

This is not happening, I thought, as I jabbed at my phone to magic up a hybrid to convey me noiselessly to a central London studio. But my Uber app had vanished and wouldn’t reinstall, and was then ‘locked’. Meanwhile, no black cabs were plying their licensed trade on Upper Tooting Road, where I was soaking up the vibrant multicultural scenery when this tech glitch occurred, outside a store called Niqaab and opposite Daily Fresh Naan. I never keep drivers waiting. I almost always tip. I even sometimes make small talk over the beat of Heart FM I moved fast to resolve the problem, i.e. I channelled Andrew Neil whenever British Airways fails to remember that he’s its most important client. I sent a stiff tweet to @UberUK, informing it that my account was disabled.

Lake Como It doesn’t take long for me to fall in love. A young Adonis with a six-pack bounced on a trampoline, his dark curls flapping like spaniels’ ears. Waiters flitted about with drinks. Ridiculously attractive couples, all with perfect bodies, lounged on the beach in front of us, rosé on ice to hand. We’d arrived by water, fetched by a barefoot beauty in an Albergo Aurora-branded white polo and batty riders, who helped our party of five out of our little launch and onto the Albergo’s riva as if not only our lives depended on it, but her job too.

My youngest son, Oliver, has asked me to make a speech at his wedding. I am very flattered even to be invited as, given the Beckham family meltdown over the Brooklyn nuptials, you can’t take anything for granted these days. I’ve undertaken not to wear a slip dress of my own design, or dance ‘on’ Oliver to any of ‘our songs’, or speak for more than five minutes. I’ve worked out that this gives me up to 750 words to praise him and his lovely bride Lily; express what he means to me; convey my joy at his marriage to the incredible blonde bombshell who has been the apple of his eye since they first met at Manchester University; tell funny stories about his childhood and school days; and generally bring the house down without blubbing. For comparison, this column is 850 words.

As every single one of my friends – and their spouses – is a tasteful soul, it goes without saying that every wedding I have ever attended has been the last word in elegance. You do hear things, though. Of Balham-based chartered accountants behaving like Victorian land magnates by renting stately homes for their nuptials. Of multi-venue events in five-star resorts by the lapping shores of the Mediterranean Sea. Of women having to buy, rent and borrow ten dresses for the summer that makes up wedding season. I could go on. So I am not surprised to read that one in three people is now turning down wedding invitations because they’ve become so expensive.

The term ‘spinster’ doesn’t seem to scare young women like it once might have. In fact, it is rarely heard nowadays. Instead, women are declaring themselves ‘alpha singles’ and eschewing dating altogether. Influencers are keeping their relationships quiet, for fear that simply posting photos of a new amour can lead to an exodus of followers. Vogue has declared boyfriends to be unfashionable. Women, it seems, are swapping engagement rings for solo travel, matcha lattes and nights spent at home with an LED face mask. Is marriage suddenly uncool? There are certainly plenty of women pushing this idea. Elle McNamara, a beauty influencer who goes by the name ‘Bambi Does Beauty’, posts advice videos on Instagram and TikTok aimed at other women.

Q. I have been booked to give my first talk on my field of professional interest. I happen to have found out that a slightly competitive friend, with no interest in the subject, has bought a ticket. I fear she knows full well that her surprise appearance in the (small) specialist audience and the cynical expression on her face will be enough to throw me off my stride completely. Mary, how can I ask her not to come without falling out with her? – Name and address withheld A. Pretend not to know she is coming. Instead outsmart her by requesting the organisers employ a well-known trick of stagecraft. Arrange for you to be brightly lit, while the auditorium is arranged in near or complete darkness.

Perhaps the most traumatic part of attending an American wedding – much worse than the bridesmaids coming in the wrong way, the proliferation of dinner suits and the tendency of couples to write their own appalling vows – is the tradition of the ‘rehearsal dinner’. This, an event the night before the wedding, is where the United States of America gets to play out its full psychotic breakdown in the context of a couple’s nuptials. It seems unfair to expect Home Counties dads to be masters of oratory Anyone, and I mean, anyone, is allowed to stand up and make a speech. Meaning that Uncle Robert E.

Q. An old friend who is extremely generous and loyal has the most infuriating habit. Despite being efficient in other ways, she doesn’t seem to have a functioning address book or contacts on her iPhone. She recently had a huge book launch and for weeks ahead was emailing me repeatedly for emails or mobile numbers. I responded patiently, sometimes even giving the same details three times. Recently I wondered if she actually does have the details but it was simpler to get me to look up things up. I want to put an end to it without being rude. What should I do? – E.S., London W11 A. Next time you could convey the nuisance impact of such serial badgering by gushing: ‘What fun!

I follow the YouTube postings of a maverick young economist called Gary Stevenson, author of The Trading Game. Whatever you think of Gary, he is absolutely right about one thing. Economists, by using what are called ‘Single Representative Agent’ models, have taken a dangerous wrong turn. Such simplistic models, which contain the convenient but absurd assumption that what is good for the average person must be proportionately good for everybody else, have allowed economists to make confident pronouncements on policy while ignoring social and intergenerational inequality completely.

Once a week, my husband and I have the same argument about AI. His position is the popular one: we’re all doomed. There’s nothing humans can do that AI won’t do better. Might as well prostrate ourselves at their articulated feet. Oh, and writers will be the first to be made redundant. Obviously, this is rubbish – at least where the written word is concerned. Yes, the bots can write best man’s speeches and thank-you letters, but have you ever read those speeches and letters? This week, a great piece of supporting evidence landed in my lap. After having a surprisingly good set of passport photos taken at a printing shop, a friend had posted a glowing review of his photographer on the company’s web page. Within minutes, the following reply appeared online.

For many of our clients we are a dirty secret. Phone calls regularly begin with variants of: ‘Can you guarantee discretion?’ But there’s not a dealer, pimp or even a Botox clinic in sight. We write speeches. Traditional taboos are fast disappearing. Personal trainers, moisturising creams and therapists are shared between friends. It is socially acceptable to plan your wedding with a professional and outsource every-thing from the flowers to the invitations. But the groom is about as likely to reference his speechwriter as his affair with the chief bridesmaid. Our client meetings are arranged in dimly lit pubs and distant cafés, far from the prying eyes of spouses and friends. My colleague Dolan met an Arab princess on a park bench in Battersea.