I was looking for something in the TV room the other day and came across my flying bag. Of course it's exactly where I left it when I was grounded, but apparently that part of my hard drive was subsequently overwritten with more important information.
MyFriendMargie had my name embossed on the front when we started flying lessons together. It's so expensive we could only afford an hour every other week (instead of eating, you understand) and we shared an instructor.
Actually, I think it's the best way to learn how to fly. We met at the flying school early on a Sunday morning, sat through the theory together, and then had breakfast at the airport restaurant after our practicals, comparing notes.
July 11 was my last flight, it's when I realised it wasn't my imagination. There was a real problem.
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