It's ok, anyone holding an Elvis wedding party in Ipswich tonight can breathe a sigh of relief - this is the age of the train, so despite me refusing to drive down to Brighton yesterday afternoon, Lisa has managed to haul herself up here, and we're donning our wigs as we speak.
Well, I am. Lisa's refusing to wear false hairpieces of any description, but she's compensating by wearing a pair of boots which her mother has declared to be "very Elvis-like". Whatever that means.
So put the cheeseburgers on the grill, we're on our way.