海亮说电影：《Four weddings and one funeral》

Ladies and gentlemen, l'm sorry to drag you from your delicious desserts.

There are just one or two little things I feel I should say, as best man.

This is only the second time l've been a best man. I hope I did that job OK that time.

The couple in question are at least still talking to me.

Unfortunately, they're not actually talking to each other.

The divorce came through a couple of months ago.

But l'm assured it had absolutely nothing to do with me.

Paula knew Piers had slept with her sister before I mentioned it in the speech.

The fact that he'd slept with her mother came as a surprise, but I think was incidental to the nightmare of recrimination and violence that became their two-day marriage.

Anyway, enough of that. My job today is to talk about Angus.

There are no skeletons in his cupboard.

Or so I thought. I'll come on to that in a minute. I would just like to say this.

I am, as ever, in bewildered awe of anyone who makes this kind of commitment that Angus and Laura have made today.

I know I couldn't do it and I think it's wonderful they can.

So, back to Angus and those sheep.

So, ladies and gentlemen, if you'd raise your glasses.

The adorable couple.
 
In order to prepare this speech, I rang a few people to get a general picture of how Gareth was regarded by those who met him. 'Fat' seems to have been a word people most connected with him. 'Terribly rude' also rang a lot of bells. So 'very fat' and 'very rude' seems to have been the stranger's viewpoint. But some of you have rung me and let me know that you loved him, which I know he would have been thrilled to hear. You remember his fabulous hospitality, his strange experimental cooking. The recipe for duck ?la banana fortunately goes with him to his grave. Most of all, you tell me of his enormous capacity for joy.

And, when joyful, for highly vocal drunkenness. I hope joyful is how you will remember him. Not stuck in a box in a church. Pick your favourite of his waistcoats and remember him that way. The most splendid, replete, big-hearted
- weak-hearted, as it turned out -
and jolly bugger most of us ever met.

As for me, you may ask how I will remember him.

What I thought of him.

Unfortunately, there I run out of words.

Forgive me if I turn from my own feelings to the words of another splendid bugger, WH Auden. This is actually what I want to say: Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let the aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message He ls Dead.
 Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West.

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last for ever:

I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now:

Put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;

For nothing now can ever come to any good.