On Rihanna & Guy Debord / RIP Powerlunches

In honour of my slow stomp towards grande dame / gran damned status (thirty years old this month) I’ve given myself a blue rinse and am gonna retreat to listicle indulgence, hammering out these frayed thoughts with the retreating vigour, piss, spit and vinegar of an officially old gal (no apologies and all respects to …

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