It's 12.23am and something's wrong.

Having just checked in to my hotel the night before the wedding, at which I'm to be Best Man, I'm up staring out of the window in panic.

I've read my speech countless times to myself before and I am, overall, generally pleased with my end product.

I'd spent months fantasising about applause, heads tilting back with laughter and drinks spurting out of mouths uncontrollably in amusement.

Except it's only just dawned on me that an audience of over 130 people may differ in opinion about what's funny, appropriate and sweet, meaning I may have judged this horribly wrong.

Panic attack

Writing the speech itself can be immensely stressful

Images fill my mind of the groom looking at me like a disappointed parent, the bride crying in a cubicle and the vein on the side of her dad's temple throbbing in anger at what I've just said.

"Just remember if you make me look like an idiot, you'll make yourself look like one, too," were the words of the groom two weeks prior.

Just what he meant by that statement I left open to interpretation, but now it's become a daunting possibility that most of my jokes - perhaps all of them - could be off-limits.

"Please don't mention that we met online, and don't offend anyone from Liverpool or Ireland because there will be a lot of them there", were some other instructions I was given in the days leading up.

Considering I'd planned to read him a short poem in Scottish, as a nod to our history book of bizarre inside jokes, this warning propelled my edginess into a near full-on panic attack.

What if there are Scots ready to beat me up? What if the bride has a fiery Scottish uncle and Sir Alex Ferguson look-alike ready to give me his own hair dryer treatment?

Even my own family could turn against me, apologising to everyone on behalf of a former hope they now rather wish was unrelated.

And not mentioning that they met online?

That was supposed to be my best joke, teasing the groom that when he told me he'd met a girl online I thought he meant he'd ordered a Thai Bride (boom boom!).

'Would you like a wine to calm the nerves?'

(Left) Groom Joe Finch and (left) me, David Rivers, the best man

Following the church service you make your way to reception and everyone looks at you as if you're the only one who doesn't realise you're naked.

Dinner arrives and I can't eat, but drink I can and I've already had four pints with two hours to go - even the staff say "would you like a wine to calm the nerves?"

I'm on after the groom's speech which, with no pressure on him at least, is a lovely few minutes of "awwing" at the story of when they first met.

He passes the microphone to me and time stands still.

"He-he-helo everyone I'm D-da-aa-vid, Joe's cousin and best man".

Interestingly the opening line is like breathing a sigh of relief, as if all of my nerves leave the body with my drunken breath as I fix my glaze on my A4 sheet of paper.

I continue: "I was honoured when Joe asked me to be his best man.

"Joe asked me, what are you doing on May 21? It's going to be a special day, we'll both get emotional and I may even cry.

"Then the penny dropped, I thought he wants me to go to the FA Cup Final if West Ham get through."

People are laughing! Like, they're actually laughing and don't seem to be faking it - suddenly I feel great and start to enjoy myself.

'Treat marriage like a football match'

Nerves soon leave after the opening line

I later go on, in Scottish: "Treat marriage like a football match. Stay committed at all times. Never be too defensive or offensive in your tactics. And don't be too surprised if you don't score on a Saturday."

Phew, my most controversial line has gone down well - even the bride and her dad are laughing, what was I worried about?

After I toast to the bride and groom the look on your best friend's face is priceless - and that is what it's all about.

He'd asked me to be his best man to say some nice words about him and his wife, make people chuckle a little and not mess up - all of which, to my knowledge anyway, I appear to have done.

It's the single greatest honour you can have from a friend, decorating years of close friendship and cementing your place as his right-hand man.

All the nerves you feel pulsating through your veins, all the panic and fear pales in comparison to this honour, no matter how much you might not want to do it.

In fact, having broken the duck I think I'll do an even better job at his next wedding.