So I’ve decided I should’ve been 22-years-old in 1941, not 2010. This is partly to do with the volume of available soldiers and airmen my 1941 counterpart would have had access to and partly to do with the clothes.
Basically, The Blitz Party was so much better than I expected. Not only was I in a lovely but calf strangling pencil skirt in the depths of a cavernous red brick bunker – obviously draped in the obligatory blackout material – there was also a live band enunciating in perfectly clipped English with a double bass in tow. It was the closest thing to historical heaven, and I had the arm of an RAF charmer to hang on to, too.
Just a tip, sign up to The Blitz Party newsletter to find out about tickets for the next one. I can almost guarantee you won’t get bombed.