My palms are sweaty. And itchy. But luckily my voice isn’t too shaky as I speak. I know I’ve told this story a million times before, but on this day – November 11, 2018 – I’m nervous, because I have hundreds of people watching me as I stand before them all in a countryside lodge in Chester, tightly gripping a microphone in my increasingly slippery hand.
“You know, Jemma was thefirst person I ever told I was…” I pause, and look around the room, a sea of eyes staring back at me. “Gay!” There’s a silence. “Oh,” I quickly add, midway through my speech. “I thought you’d all be more shocked. I was sort of waiting for a gasp…” Everyone laughs at my self-deprecation. They’re laughing because it’s so very obvious I’m gay, no one can imagine a time in history that I ever actually needed to inform someone of the fact.
Including one of the brides, Jemma, my childhood best friend, who’s sitting down beside me, wearing perhaps the only dress I’ve ever seen her in, looking beautiful, as I make my speech at her wedding on a surprisingly bright autumn day. She’s marrying Dr Amy McCulloch – which I’m hoping means I get free medical advice and prescriptions for life (!) – but even without that perk, it’s clear these two women are perfect for each other; and anyone who spends time in their company, even if only briely, knows that too.