There are mates, colleagues, acquaintances – and then there are friends you know you'll be having Zimmer-frame races with when you are in your seventies.

Katie is the latter.

We met as teenagers working at the same record shop on Saturdays. She was everything I wasn't. She was tall, athletic, laid-back, popular, effortlessly cool and naturally stunning. I should have hated her but her warmth, kindness and self-deprecating wit didn't let me.

Nearly two decades later and she lives in Australia so we rarely get to see each other, but this former UWE student is still one of my best friends.

Her dashing Aussie boyfriend popped the question and they decided to get married in England. And when she asked me to read a Bible passage at their wedding, I felt honoured.

The thought of a church full of people all looking at me filled me with nerves, but I was desperate not to let Katie down on her big day.

I practiced and practiced the reading but always stumbled over the same tongue-twisters. My main worry, though, was blubbing. When I did a reading at my best school friend's wedding, I had to blink back tears throughout and delivered the last three words as increasingly high-pitched squeaks as the tear torrent finally burst through.

Nightmares about Katie's wedding plagued my nights. In one, I vomited over the vicar. In another, my heel got stuck in a floor grate and when I finally yanked it out it flew through the air and whacked the groom's elderly grandma, knocking her out.

To calm my nerves, I visited the church for a pre-wedding recce. No floor grate – fantastic! Then I stood at the carved wooden lectern at the front where I'd be reading from – and I couldn't see over the top. I could only see the last few pews.

Could I stand on a box? Maybe... but in heels? And what if I fall off it, tumble down the steps and land in a crumpled heap with my knickers showing to the congregation? To make sure I wasn't just a disembodied voice, and also to give me confidence, I finally decided that I needed a fascinator (a delicate, plumage-style hair adornment).

After a fruitless search in Bristol, the day after the bride-to-be's London hen do, I dashed to Harrods. I found a beautiful one – for £600. Then I found another – £120. Both way out of my budget! Then I spied what looked like the tail feathers of an exotic bird that matched my jade green dress. But the price? £70. I still couldn't afford it.

"That one's in the sale, madam," the shop assistant whispered. Yes!

But how could I get it home without damaging its fragile tendrils?

Minutes later, I emerged from the store carrying a gigantic green hat box containing my precious fascinator wrapped in enough tissue to paper a room. After dragging that, an overnight case and my huge handbag on and off the tube to Victoria, I spent the three-hour coach journey home with the giant hat box on my lap.

On the day of the wedding, I was so worried about getting stuck in traffic that my boyfriend and I arrived an hour early. I didn't want my dress to get creased during the drive, so I did a quick change in a grimy car park toilet with no loo seat, craning my neck to see into the dirty mirror to anchor my fascinator.

When Katie stepped into the church, she looked incredible. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat.

During the first hymn, I realised I hadn't rehearsed my reading without my glasses on – glasses that were now in the glove box of my car. Panicking, I squinted at the reading sans specs...

Suddenly the vicar said "...and now, please be seated", which was my cue.

I strode on wobbly legs to the lectern, took a deep breath and started reading slowly and carefully. I managed to twist my tongue around all the tricky phrases and before I knew it, it was over.

I hadn't vomited, fallen, blubbed or fluffed my lines. Relief.