Best friend speech examples

Jordan once texted me at two in the morning. Not to talk — just a photo of a spreadsheet titled "Reasons We Should Buy a Canoe." We do not live near water. Neither of us can reliably swim. There were fourteen reasons. Number nine was "canoes are peaceful." Number twelve was, and I am quoting exactly, "we could name it something."

I'm Casey, and Jordan asked me to speak today, which is a lovely thing to be asked and also means most of my best material is canoe-adjacent.

Because that spreadsheet is the whole person. Jordan does not have hobbies, Jordan has campaigns. There was the year of the sourdough, when I received daily photographs of a jar as though it were a newborn. There was the half-marathon Jordan signed us both up for and then, and this is true, described the entire way round as "our idea." There was a brief and confident period of beekeeping that produced no honey, several apologies to the neighbours, and one genuinely alarming Tuesday.

And here is the thing I only worked out recently. Every one of those campaigns has the same secret engine. Jordan does not actually care about canoes, or bees, or bread. Jordan cares about having a person to be ridiculous with. The scheme is only ever the excuse. I have been that person for a long time, and it has been, no exaggeration, one of the great pleasures of my life to be someone's excuse.

Which brings me to Noor. Noor, the first time I watched the two of you together, Jordan pitched you some absolutely deranged plan across a dinner table — I think it was a vegetable patch — and instead of laughing it off, you asked where the sunlight fell in the garden. You took it seriously. You joined the campaign.

And I felt something I did not expect, which was relief. Because being someone's whole audience is a wonderful job and a heavy one, and I have watched you pick up your half of it with both hands.

So I am not losing my ridiculous friend today. I am watching the two of us become the three of us, and honestly the schemes have never been better funded.

Everyone, please raise your glasses. To Jordan and Noor.

The week I moved cities for a job I was not sure about, Robin turned up at my empty flat at eight in the morning with a toolbox, a bag of pastries, and no discussion. We built furniture until it got dark. Robin does not even live in that city. They took a day off, drove three hours, assembled a wardrobe, ate one pastry, and drove home. When I tried to thank them, they said, "you'd have done the drawers wrong," and left.

I'm Sam. I have known Robin a long time, and almost everything I could tell you about them is small like that.

Robin is the friend who texts the day after the hard thing, not the day before it. The one who remembers which of your relatives you find difficult and quietly steers the conversation for you at parties without ever letting on. When my sister was in hospital, Robin did not send flowers. Robin sent a folder of parking information and the name of the good coffee place near the ward, because Robin had already thought about the day I was actually going to have.

For a while I worried about them, honestly. People who look after everyone so quietly are easy to take for granted, and I did not always see anyone looking after Robin.

And then there was Devin.

Devin, the first thing I noticed about you was that you asked Robin a question and then waited. Just waited, for the real answer, not the polite one. I watched Robin realise you actually wanted to know, and I watched them let you in, which is not a fast process, as several of us in this room have learned over many patient years.

You have kept asking. I have watched you do it. And Robin is not different, exactly — still quiet, still arriving with the right folder at the right moment — but they are less alone in it now, and that is the thing I most wanted for them.

So I am not here to hand my friend over to you, Devin. I am here delighted that the person who has quietly looked after so many of us finally has someone doing the same in return.

Robin, Devin — everyone, please raise your glasses. To the two of you.

Wes once spent an entire Sunday helping me search for a set of keys that were, the whole time, in my own coat pocket. Wes never once mentioned the pocket afterwards. Not a word. That is a friend.

I'm Ari, and I have spent a good few years being the person Wes patiently helps look for things.

Because that is Wes exactly — the sort of person who will give you a whole day and then act as though you did them the favour. Wes is the one who stays behind to stack the chairs, who learns the name of your dog before they learn yours, who somehow already knows you had a rough week and just quietly makes the tea.

I have watched Wes do that for a lot of people. And for a long time I hoped someone would come along who noticed it — who noticed Wes, properly.

Rey, that turned out to be you. The first time I saw the two of you together, you were finishing each other's terrible jokes, and you looked at Wes like the day had improved simply because they had walked in. I remember thinking, good. That is the one.

So I will say the obvious thing quickly, because I know we all want to get to the dancing. I am not losing a friend today. I am watching someone I love be loved back, out loud, in front of everyone, which is exactly how it always should have been.

Wes, Rey — you are going to be so good at this.

Everyone, raise your glasses. To Wes and Rey.