gettin' blitzed

I've done all the available readings for this week, I've gone for a run (?!?!), I've bought ridiculous amounts of produce, and have been back in London for over a week. I've done some minor ukulele playing, even. And yet, my suitcase remains unpacked. Well, it's been opened, the ukulele retrieved, and the clothes sort of strewn about everywhere as if I was an Important Person and spies had rummaged through my personal effects looking for secret documents and hoping to Send A Message. There is nothing left to do now except unpack it, probably.

Oh, right. Or I can just get way too excited about the Blitz party. This Shoreditch club night sounds like basically the best thing since that tumblr of hot guys reading, or that iPhone app that sticks cats in all your pictures. I thought I'd have a little hair practice party, because all them ladies on youtube say you can just twiddle some bobby pins around some hot rollers and then use a spray or wax (but never a gel) and you're fine... and they are liars. This little number is mostly being held up by grease and my obsession with bygone eras, and it was a STRUGGLE. Anyway, then I had a make up party and a dress party and a vintage undergarments party [not pictured], which is all well and good, except for this: 

Suitcase is right. I have some cleaning to do.