Rain. Rain. More rain. Wind. Rain. Thunder! Rain. It's that kind of day.
What we want is a cask of nanner grog, but, you know, the hoomin. The hoomin is good for nothing on days like these. He promised to take the brush to Charlie's mane. Then again, he just might stay buried in that FAA book on instructing. Sheesh.
Yes, Charlie is hanging out with that dude, Gus. Hoomin promised me that the crew would be rotated this evening. We shall see. And we'll keep you posted.