First DanceTwo of the most wonderful people walking the earth were married yesterday. Steve is one of my oldest friends, one of the crowd I fell in with during teenage years (mis)spent exploring the dingier indie/alternative nightclubs of Brighton. We've subsequently worked together (he joined Good Technology at it's first operations guy), lived together, and we train together at Airenjuku Brighton - where he and Yvonne met.
I was proud to stand at his side on the day and assist as his best man.

The wedding was appropriate and gorgeous, with the ceremony held in the Red Room of Brighton Pavilion, on Valentine's day. A tour of the pavilion followed, then a fantastic meal provided by Due South, and a knees-up at Circus Circus with a crowd of familiar faces, and some old friends I've not has a chance to catch up with in years.

At the end of the night, as the last few revellers prepared to stagger away, Yvonne did a reading - a riff on The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer. I liked it so much I stole her notes, so I could write it up here:

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your hearts longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what grade you are at aikido. I want to know if you feel a sense of pleasant exhilaration even though you're pouring with sweat and it's nearly the end of class.

I was to know if you can get up after a night of watching The Wire and still practice chi gong in the lounge before you go to work.

It doesn't interest me that you use Microsoft Windows. I want to know that you can use Linux, Debian and open source DSB (and other derivatives of UNIX). And that you can fix our home computer when all broadband connections fail. As well as the computer at my sisters, my mum, your grandfather, your dad and all our family and friends.

I want to know that you can eat half of the bar of chocolate that's in the kitchen, and leave the other half for me when I get home from work, even though I scoffed the whole lot last week.

It doesn't interest me if the joke that you are telling is funny. I want to know that you can laugh at your own jokes even when those around you look blank and confused.

I want to know that you can groove on the dance floor and that you truly like the shapes that you throw in the light of the disco ball.

Perfect. Joh (Steve's sister - oh Brighton, you are an incestuous little city) has posted the reading she gave at the service too.

Taking a break