Good evening. Sam asked me to keep this short, and I agreed, and neither of us believed me.
I'm Danny, Sam's older brother. I've known the groom since before he had teeth, and I've got material going back to 1994.
He was a menace early. When Sam was nine he took the back off Mum's washing machine to see how it worked, couldn't get it back together, and blamed the dog. The dog. Rusty couldn't open his own food, but apparently he owned a screwdriver. Sam held that line for a full week, and honestly, I admired it.
I'm a plumber. I fix leaks for a living, which is funny, because I've spent thirty years watching my little brother cause them. Last spring he rang me at eleven on a Tuesday night. Very calm, very casual, which is the voice he only uses when something is genuinely on fire. He'd watched one YouTube video and decided he was qualified to fit his own rain shower. By the time I got there, half the bathroom ceiling was in the kitchen and Sam was stood in two inches of water, holding the instructions upside down, telling me it was basically done.
I went. I always go. But it works both ways, and that's the bit I want to say properly. When my van got nicked the week before Christmas two years back, Sam drove four hours through the snow without even ringing first. He turned up with a flask and a stupid grin and worked my jobs with me for a week. He charged one customer a hug. We don't talk about the invoicing. The man is hopeless with a wrench. Properly dangerous. He once pulled a muscle putting up a shelf, then left the shelf a bad review online. But he showed up, and he kept showing up, and there are people in this room he's done the same for. You know who you are.
Then he met Priya, and I knew it was serious because he started reading instructions. Actual instructions, all the way to the end. The first time she came to ours for Sunday lunch, she watched Sam carve the chicken for about ten seconds, then took the knife off him quietly, like a hostage negotiator, and finished the job herself. Mum pulled me into the hallway and said, that one stays. Mum is never wrong about chicken or people.
She was right. Priya, you've seen the overdraft years and the haircut he had in 2019, and you're still here, in the dress, on purpose. You make him calmer. He used to send texts in all capitals about toaster settings, and now he breathes first. You make him think before he speaks, which this family attempted for three decades, so do write the method down. And you laugh at him, which he needs, and slightly fears.
Sam. I've watched you do a lot of jobs badly, mate. Husband is the first one I reckon you're fully qualified for.
So everyone, fill your glasses and get on your feet. To Sam and Priya. May their love be watertight, because their bathroom certainly wasn't.
To Sam and Priya.
Spoken by Danny, 38, a plumber from Sheffield and the groom's older brother. 528 words.