Roger and Eva were getting married in Roger's native Edinburgh, which was about as far away from Chichester as you could get without needing a translator, but Foggy, Loukesy and myself hopped on an EasyJet and went anyway. I think the delays at the airport took longer than the flight.
Obligatory vaguely amusing anecdotes: the vicar telling the whole congregation that Roger had been made redundant that week; earlier as the flight landed Foggy pointed out that this might mean they'd have to cancel the honeymoon, and me pointing out that, being Scottish, he'd never cancel because he'd lose his deposit. That last one's more funny when you know that my ears had popped on the flight, so I said it at the top of my voice - on a 'plane full of Scots. Oh, and we got on the official wedding photos in our see-you-Jimmy hats. I almost made a fool out of myself comparing the sporrans people were wearing to dead badgers, until one guest turned around wearing a sporran made out of a badger's head. And probably the only Scottish wedding in history not to serve alcohol, although we found the hotel bar fairly quickly.