Picture the scene. Avram stands at the front of the synagogue, best man Sullivan at his side. Cue Fiddler on the Roof and Brady appears at the back, on the arm of David Gold. Gold looks into her eyes and gives her a reassuring touch on the forearm. Brady smiles back nervously and swallows deep. (No! Paul Peschisolido has not done a Hoffman and barged his way into the service!)
They walk slowly up the aisle. Grant looks around expectantly and smiles at his bride. Brady trembles, her slow steps falter, she looks behind hopefully, but Gold urges her on, whispering in her ear. As Karren reaches the front of the synagogue, Grant steps into the aisle and takes her by the hand; and the service begins:
"Do you, Karren Brady, take Avram Grant as your lawfully hired manager, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, till death do you part, so help you God?" Grant smiles and slides a blotchy hand across her bottom.
Suddenly Brady panics. She gasps in horror and looks around desperately, for Pardew, O'Neill, Zola, ANYBODY! She tries to step away, but Gold grips her by the arm and whispers, "Say I do! Say I do!"
"But..." Brady protests. "Look at him! Look at that face! Look at that body! Dear God, just picture his credentials!"
"Stay calm", Gold whispers. "Remember, one week before we sacked Zola I was on Radio Five Live, saying he would be our manager for many years to come! It's only words. Words mean nothing. Say, I do!"
The Rabbi clears his throat and asks again, "Do you, Karren Brady, take Avram Grant as your lawfully hired manager, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, till death do you part, so help you God?"
Brady wipes away a tear and says through gritted teeth, "Probably"!