Weekender

The Weekender features the best work, the most brilliant arts writing and some of the more, ahem, irreverent things that dance across our desktops in any given week. All hail the weekend!

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    Here we are! The luscious weekend! The second in a long, long year of toil and strife. If you think about the year as a long weekend, then January is basically Saturday morning. You know what that means as well, coffee in bed and bacon every meal until Sunday (or mid-June, in this game). Hoozah!

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    Wilkommen to the new year! We’re back! We’ve actually been back for a few days now, bleary eyed and full of gravy we waddled to our desks and began tapping away, firing up the internet for another year of content. Are you excited? You should be. More importantly, this is the first of a whopping 48 Weekenders to come. Not as excited? Fair enough, it is a bit of a weird weekly tradition. We like it though.

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    What’s the point of giving you boring old articles about boring old art and design when you can have YouTube clips and funny pictures about Christmas? Hmm? Exactly. Here’s a selection of festive crap for you to gawp at, like a stocking packed by the internet itself. Merry Christmas everyone! It’s the It’s Nice That Christmas Special Weekender! Let’s start with this.

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    “I don’t look upon this like it’s the end, I look upon it like it’s moving on you know. It’s almost like my work here’s done. I can’t imagine Jesus going ‘Oh, I’ve told a few people in Bethlehem I’m the son of God, can I just stay here with Mum and Dad now?’ No. You gotta move on. You gotta spread the word. You gotta go to Nazareth, please. And that’s, very much like… me. My world does not end within these four walls, Slough’s a big place. And when I’ve finished with Slough, there’s Reading, Aldershot, Bracknell, you know I’ve got to-Didcott, Yately. You know. My-Winersh, Taplow. Because I am my own boss, I can-Burfield. I can wake up one morning and go ‘Ooh, I don’t feel like working today, can I just stay in bed?’ ‘Ooh, don’t know, better ask the boss.’ ‘David can I stay in bed all day?’ ‘Yes you can David.’ Both me, that’s not me in bed with another bloke called David.”

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    You might’ve just crawled out of your office, wiped a week’s worth of coffee remnants and a bit of old saliva from your chin with the back of your hand, you might even be trying to decide whether or not to go home and shower before you proceed to get absolutely out of your tree with your budgie Terence, but no matter how gross you are, the Weekender is here for YOU. Its morals may well be dubious, and it might not be held responsible for its actions, but friends, it has a trolley-load of loosely art and design-related fun for you and it ain’t ashamed to flaunt it.

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    Or, y’know, don’t; it is Friday, after all – you might have had a long, hard week, or gotten a bit too over-enthusiastic with the thermal undies, or spit your lunch all down yourself when watching something really funny, or just not quite have had time to get in the shower this morning. There won’t be any arm-throwing here, in any case. Gross. For hugging and non-hugging co-workers alike, it’s Friday night! Get away from your desks!

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    Life is hard, and The Weekender can only help you so much along the way. It won’t lift its feet to let you hoover beneath, and it certainly won’t help you carry the shopping in from the car. In fact, The Weekender is almost useless. What it does do, though, is provide a tang to your week that you just can’t find anywhere else. It’s a pongy whiff, the nasty taste in your mouth, the dangerous spider in your bag of salad. It’s earwax.

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    “In the car I just can’t wait, to pick you up on our very first date. Is it cool if I hold your hand? Is it wrong if I think it’s lame to dance? Do you like my stupid hair? Would you guess that I didn’t know what to wear? I’m too scared of what you think. You make me nervous so I really can’t eat.” – Blink 182, 2001.

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    The world was on fire and no one could save me but you, it’s strange what desire will make foolish people do. I’d never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you, I’d never dreamed that I’d lose somebody like you. No I don’t want to fall in love (this girl is only gonna break your heart) No I don’t want to fall in love (this girl is only gonna break your heart) With you. With you (this girl is only gonna break your heart) What a wicked game you played to make me feel this way, what a wicked thing to do to let me dream of you, what a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way, what a wicked thing to do to make me dream of you. And I don’t want to fall in love (this girl is only gonna break your heart) No I don’t want to fall in love (this girl is only gonna break your heart) With you…

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    What’s been your best ever weekend? Mine was only a few months back when I had pizza on Friday night, then pizza for lunch on Saturday and then pizza again on Saturday evening! Hat trick! We don’t know what the Weekender gets up to on his days off, I imagine his weekend smells of petrol and feels like cheap lace or bananas. Best to leave that stone unturned.

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    Ever go on one of those ancestry websites where they track down your long lost relatives? You always go in believing that you’re a descendent of Christopher Columbus or a second cousin of Cher and then end up a bit upset at the realisation your descendants were so poor and stupid that they couldn’t even afford to get to the census office. The Weekender descended from a long line of slightly crude, slapdash TV shows and magazines over the years, yes it’s true. The Weekender is actually the lovechild of Viz Magazine and Fun House. What a night of loving that was. Always wear a condom.

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    The Weekender is much like a party bag you may receive at the end of a birthday gathering. The thing is with this party bag however is that the slice of chocolate gateau is a urinal cake, the lollipop is a bloodied handgun, the necklace is a string of chipolatas and the yo-yo is a wooden box of anonymous teeth. You can only imagine what the party was like.

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    Alrighty then you gorgeous lot. It’s time to unclog your peepers, show off the capitalist shackles and go bask in two blissful days of cultural, gastronomic and, sure, dancey goodness. We won’t judge you. Heck The Weekender’s your pal, lining up the shots at the bar while you get freaky on the floor. So bottoms up one and all; let’s live, love and laugh like it’s our last weekend on earth!

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    “Ahoy ye thar Weekenders!” Shouted the withered old man from the top of the lighthouse, pipe dangling from his fishy beard. The good ship Weekender tumbled over the waves and rolled towards the bay. The Weekenders on board this barnacled vessel were busy inside the entertainment hall, gambling, boozing and pinching the bottoms of the caterers. One man said it was the best trip he’d ever had, but he probably had one too many.

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    It always seems to be Friday, doesn’t it? What’s that sound? Hm? Oh, that’s just the sound of your life rushing past before your eyes. No you can’t have another one. Why not, you ask? Because life isn’t fair. It isn’t long either, this train ride’s going to be up before you know it. So sit back, buy an overpriced coffee and put your feet on the seat in front (naughty). We’ve got some things we want to show you…

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    Picture this. It’s Friday afternoon, you’re buried beneath the mountain of shredding and photocopying and proofreading and accounts that you have yet to get through before you can officially crack open the Bacardi Breezers and get the party started. The end of the week is the troubled water. Let the Weekender be your bridge. We’ll carry you through, just like Simon and Garfunkel, if Simon and Garfunkel spoke nonsense and sung all their songs through a mouthful of hula hoops and were obsessed with Youtube clips of animals falling off things. Are you ready?

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    Hello Weekenders! Now is the time that you pack up your bags, jump into your nice red cars and drive grinning into the distance for a wholesome weekend of smiles, laughs and love. Just kidding, no one does that anymore. You’ll probably be sitting in a sh*tty Corsa at a service station somewhere outside of Watford, hating your families and chewing morosely on a pastie whilst the seatbelt chafes against your crotch, which will result in a rash. Ah well.

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    Would you rather be a potato or an apple? I ask this because I am currently looking at one of each. Apples are shiny, sweet and get on with everyone really well, but potatoes have got this kind of subterranean edge. Different shapes and sizes, a bit rough, a bit hairy, go well with meat and booze. I’m a potato. 100% potato. Welcome to The Weekender.

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    There’s something in the water at It’s Nice That towers (it’s more of a bunker actually) at the moment. Everyone’s gyrating and that to a whole bunch of smooth tunes. There’s a party afoot and it seems like this is where it’s at. So let’s get a party going, let’s get a party going, now it’s time to party and we’ll party hard. Let’s get a party going, let’s get a party going, when it’s time to party we will always party hard. Anyway, probably time to head home before someone loses an eye.

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    HELLO! It’s a Friday and we’re spending our time reminiscing about the time Daphne and Celeste got bottles of sh*t and p*ss thrown at them at Reading Festival in the year 2000. There’s only one video of it online, and luckily it gives you exactly what you want and more. Despite being absolutely pelted with anything any grubby festival-goer could get their mitts on, Celeste (or Daphne, I don’t know which one’s which) still grinned and said it was “cool that they were throwing stuff!” Good on yer, girls. That’s just the attitude we’re looking for here at The Weekender. Onwards…

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    I’m doing a dance but you can’t see it so you’ll need to imagine it. It’s a special friday Weekender celebratory dance. Imagine a cross between a dirty Tango and a stadium-tour-choreographed pop medley. That’s the one! It’s fun, no? So why not join in with your own little fandango, and believe (TESTIFY!) that we are so ruddy ready for a Friday. Let’s do this.

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    Remember when you used to get left home alone as a treat and you’d do things like ride a mattress down the stairs or spray squirty cream straight into your mouth? Our editor Rob’s been away this week. So far on the site in his absence we’ve had retro food, saucy embroidery, video games and sausage art. Well, when the cat’s away…

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    In this crazy gameshow we call life, it’s time to take that gamble that makes the host double-take and the audience gasp. Who is this maverick? I came with nothing. I’ll take my chances. The wheel spins/box opens/answer flashes up. There’s a pause. Drums provide staccato heartbeat mimicry. Your significant other in the front row covers his or her face. It’s tense. It’s impossible. It’s crazy. It’s… The Weekender!

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    This week two healthy and quite well-off young people gave birth to a baby boy – and the WHOLE WORLD lost their sh*t! Nah we’re not trying to be edgy good on them – producing a king is pretty cool. But quick thing Twitter, ALL the jokes have now been done. Yep that one. And that one. That one is days old now. That one doesn’t make sense. Oh wait because heir sounds a bit like hair? Yeah done. So at ease online wags, let’s all just look ahead to two glorious days of revelry…

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    Alright you rowdy bunch, pipe down. You there, at the front, sit down and stop pushing the guy next to you. There’s room for everyone. And you there, hovering at the back, come in or get the hell out. This is a serious business. And YOU, yeah you. You seem cool for a naked chick in a booth. Let’s be pals some day. Anyway, don’t get a nosebleed, don’t get upset, we can’t be naked and famous just yet. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.

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    This week The Weekender’s got beef. It’s spent an awful lot of time recently listening to the radio and has been plagued by the lack of heavyweight intellectual lyricism in modern music. For example: “(Look) I’m betting you like people, and I’m betting you love freak mode, and I’m betting you like girls that give love to girls and stroke your little ego. I bet you I’m guilty your honour, that’s just how we live in my genre. Who in the hell done paved the road wider? There’s only one flo, and one rida. I’m a damn shame, order more champagne, pull a damn hamstring tryna put it on ya. Bet your lips spin back around corner, slow it down baby take a little longer.”

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    Friday’s usually a fun day at It’s Nice That that sees us frolicking about the studio like a small flock of sprightly lambs cavorting in a lush, green field, fresh from suckling the teats of our happy-go-lucky sheep mums (we’ve grossed ourselves out). But today it’s swelteringly hot and all that youthful energy has drained right away. We’d like to say that this hasn’t changed the tone of The Weekender, but even The Weekender is susceptible to the heat. So you’ll find this week’s instalment riddled with lethargy, cynicism and more than a dash of heat-induced ennui. You’ve been warned.

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    Friday has rolled across our hearts like a silky jazz vocal on a hackneyed-yet-tearjerking love song. Know what i mean? Well you shouldn’t do – I’m talking utter nonsense. It was a trick! Hahahahahaha….hey wait! Come back, I’m sorry! Ok let’s start over. Pray silence, for The Weekender…

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    Tragedy! When the feeling’s gone and you can’t go on it’s tragedy! When you live in ancient Greece and your dad murders your sister for betraying the family and then you have a weird moment with your mum, it’s tragedy! Where were we? Oh yeah, great news folks, it’s the weekend and thus, like night follows day, it’s The Weekender. Climb aboard, you’re one of us now!

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    Hark my liege! Word reaches us from our scouts in the western valley that The Weekender and its forces advances apace. No sire, there’s no time to send for the heralds we must flee this very night! You know what they say about The Weekender! It takes no prisoners. Now have your squire pack only what you need, we ride for safer ground immediately!

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    WELCOME! Welcome to the most fun you’ll have this week. Now sit down and shut up. The Weekender is here to commandeer the awkward situation, to nibble the outside of the Kit Kat, to squeeze the cow’s teat, to unhinge the hinges, to peel the rind from the fruit of life. Are you ready? Gloves on…

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    Are you getting used to the new Weekender design? We hope so. It’s good to have a little switch-around sometimes, like when your mum moves the sofas around in the living room and you feel all dislocated for a while. But you know that when that feeling subsides you’ll feel all at home again. So welcome home, here you are, in the warm, chubby, flour-brushed arms of The Weekender. Nuzzle in, reader, nuzzle in.

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    Finding it hard to care much about life these days? Let this round-up selection of life-affirmingly creative links and projects bring you back to your old, happy self. Okay, so “life-affirmingly creative” is maybe an exaggeration, but it’s Friday and everyone exaggerates on Friday! Like your mate Craig who said he had fifteen pints that time. He didn’t, Craig’s a liar. Sort your shit life out, Craig.

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    Still not accustomed to the new-look Weekender? Finding it hard to navigate the choppy waters of loosely art and design-related nonsense? What’s wrong with you? It’s really quite simple! You see we start with six articles you DEFINITELY SHOULD NOT MISS THIS WEEK, follow it up with a look at the week’s physical, through-the-letterbox post and then launch ourselves whole-heartedly into the novelty dregs of the beautiful internet. Think of it as the weekend supplement of your favourite newspaper except without any recipes for celeriac and kale breakfast bars or sentimental adverts for expensive watches. It’s the cat’s pyjamas! (If you still don’t get it there’s really no hope for you).

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    ….and lo, Friday afternoon arrives and we crest it together like a well-built schooner cutting through the waves on a rolling (but NOT stormy) ocean. Back slaps all round gang! And our gift to you is the new look Weekender with Things, the usual nonsense and six articles you really should have read this week.

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    The weekend, eh? It’s pretty darn perfect what with its social engagements and its long lazy mornings and its flagrant disregard for the mores of the working world (wear shoes? Don’t think so mate). But here at It’s Nice That we wondered whether there was a way to improve the weekend even just a little bit,. And so we are thrilled to introduce to you to our new Weekender section. It takesThe Weekender’s rakish sense of web-based nonsense and merges it with our popular weekly look at the lovely lovely things we get sent to the studio each and every day. Then we add in some top content from the site over the past seven days, plus a few extras to boot.

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    Why you got to play that song so loud? Cos we want to! Cos we want to! Why you always hanging ‘round in crowds? Cos we want to! Cos we want to! Why have you got to build a terrifyingly unstable nuclear reactor at exorbitant financial cost and devastating environmental ramifications putting us in mortal economic, ecological and existential danger? Cos we want to! Cos we want to! Oh, and that’s ok is it mid-1990s Billie Piper? Is it? Sheesh. Let’s do this.

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    This week The Weekender has spent most of its time ‘a la Flashdance’, in a skin-tight leotard and leg warmers gyrating provocatively at a floor-length mirror and mouthing sexy lyrics to itself. And why has this been the primary activity in The Weekender’s week? Because of Daft Punk and Pharrell’s new single of course; The Weekender can’t resist that gorgeous man with his sensual lyrics, beautiful face and winning smile, nor the effortlessly catchy tunes of its favourite French electro pioneers. Sing it with me now: “We’re up all night to get lucky, we’re up all night to get lucky, we’re up all night to get lucky!”

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    Ciao bello/bella! This week the Weekender has been in Milan feasting on cured meats, cheeses, pizzas and pasta. It saw some design too. Not once did it manage to get its hands on a gelato though, which was enormously frustrating as frozen cream is The Weekender’s favourite thing, except for maybe endless diatribes about the nature of its own existence and the incessant pursuit of loosely design-related junk with which to fatten the minds of its followers. Anyway, apart from all the food there was a lot of heavy boozing, some chairs, canapés (pronounced kahnaypes), a tent, loads more chairs and an outdoor swimming pool in a villa. So yeah, that about sums it up. But what was going on outside of Italy’s design capital? Let’s take a look shall we…..

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    People of Friday afternoon, chill your boots. Yeah we know The Weekender was nowhere to be seen last week and we can only imagine you were devastated, stranded in the post-lunch daze with nothing to do; no refreshing nuggets of web-guff to entertain you in your hour of need. But The Weekender celebrates Easter just like anyone else and we’ll be damned if we’ll deny it the opportunity to ram its face full of chocolate eggs, go bowling in Woking (don’t ask) and roast an entire flock of lambs to satisfy its meaty lust. So yes, perhaps we did desert you for a whole Friday, but don’t expect an apology. The Weekender makes no apologies.