I read an amusing light-hearted opinion piece in The Guardian last month. The headline was ‘You should be legally obliged to play Mr Brightside at your wedding’. The writer pointed out that this famous song by the Killers is the longest-charting single in UK history “even though the Killers are (somehow) American”. She had opened up by writing: “I have been to two weddings where they refused to play [it], and both ended in divorce. Well, not yet – but I’m sure it’s coming.”

OK, I get where she’s coming from. It’s a very anthemic rock song and basically everyone knows it. On the other hand, it’s a song about jealousy and infidelity. Is that ideal material for a wedding? A few years ago, my wife and I went to a wedding where the groom, with some good reason, rather fancied himself as an Elvis impersonator. One of the first things to occur after everyone had sat down for the meal was that he teed up a karaoke-style machine to play a Presley soundtrack so that he could serenade us, and his new bride, with a song. It was Suspicious Minds. Is that an auspicious way to kick off married life? (They are still married.)

Things can go wrong with weddings without so blatantly tempting fate – for example, as with the pigeon-infested photo of the happy couple on the home page. Many years ago now, my wife and I attended a wedding at which the vicar got the bride’s name wrong. Twice. (The vicar is, of course, supposed to know the bride’s name better than he might the groom’s.) The first time, I think most of the congregation thought they had misheard. Not so the second time. The groom corrected the vicar and then promptly fainted. To his credit, in his speech at the reception he remarked “I know you were expecting to be attending a wedding today, not a passing-out parade.”

The speeches are also a big deal at a wedding, perhaps in particular the one by the best man. I recall a wedding where the more elderly members of the gathering suffered palpitations when the best man announced he was about to present the newly-weds with “something to stop the patter of tiny feet”. No, it was not what they were fearing. It was a mousetrap. And given the inevitable generational differences, there’s always the matter of how risqué one might be. Maybe the finest balancing act I heard in this regard was the best man who offered that we would surely all agree that the bride looked as beautiful and splendid as a rose. “And indeed there is a rose that bears her name,” he said. “I looked it up. It was very interesting. According to one horticultural guide, it – and I quote – performs well in a bed but is much better against a south-facing wall.”

Obviously, it’s how you tell ’em.