Writing a speech and the quacking of arses

Ok it's been a while. I have not really been in the mood and I still don't really think I am. I write here and a few other places, here because it's therapeutic for me to write certain thoughts down.

Not a lot has happened apart from my best friend got married on the 8th of this month, I was Best Man and I felt dead important for a whole day. I am not a nervous person by any means but for some reason the concept of delivering a speech made me shit myself for a good week leading up to the big day.

I had no real trouble writing it and my girlfriend made me read it to her and said she thought it was good but the prospect of delivering the fucker to a room full of people filled me with fear. On the night before the wedding I woke up feeling nervous and sick to my stomach, to the point where I thought I would actually vomit. It was a strange and unusual experience.

When we got to the hotel where the ceremony was taking place I felt better but had to force myself to not get massively pissed (which would ordinarily have been my first course of action at weddings in general and any situation that made me nervous). I stuck to two pints over a few hours and then when we sat down at the head table I had a few cheeky sips from a hip flask I had borrowed.

From then on a strange sense of calm washed over me and all nerves went away. I stood up when I was introduced and gave what I consider a strong and confident performance which was punctuated by laughter from the crowd and garnered spontaneous applause at the end. I have never felt so relieved in my entire life. I had people coming up to me all day telling me they thought I had done a good job and I can't put into words how good that made me feel after stressing for so long.

It was a great day and it filled me with warmth to see my best friend so happy and emotional.
He's on his honeymoon now in Kefalonia, the lucky cunt.

I would be a Best Man again in a heartbeat.

Thirst.

When I think of all the water wasted, taps I left to run, the washing out of glasses thrice when one time would have done.

The water fights in days of old I used pint after pint, the times in summer showering cold against the muggy night.

If neighbours trying to keep up must wash a car too much, then I can see the water run and I might shrug and such.

All the ways in which I sat and let it run away, not bothering to think that I may need it back one day.

If you could see me thirsty now, in need of just a drink, you may too have your regrets and you might stop and think.

If I had saved that which I spilt, regret would not exist, and my dry bones would live once more, cracked lips with moisture kissed.

It's too late now for me to live, I've gone a drip too far, I'm weak and thirsty, dry and spent, and asking for my ma.

The moral of my tale is this: look forth to looking back. For one day too you may be in the Red and not the Black.

Live your life as is your want, enjoy but do be nice, try save a little here and there, as squander is a vice.

Do all this as best you can, but hear a wise man say, never pity anyone, it comes to you one day.

The above is my first clumsy attempt at poetry. I wrote it while my other half was on the bog so it didn't take that long. Simplistic rhyming scheme aside I think it's ok, but then I have literally no fucking idea.