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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    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.

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    Since copy and pasting the lyrics to The Spice Girls’ Mama a few weeks back, I kind of can’t resist doing it again. Instead of writing some quirky intro using my BRAIN i’m just going to copy and paste a quirky intro using my INTERNET. Without further ado, here’s a snippet of the lyrics to The Sugababes’ 2005 hit, Push The Button (they are back together, after all)

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    If The Weekender had a hammer, he’d hammer in the morning, he’d hammer in the evening, he’d hammer out danger, he’d hammer out a warning, between his brothers and his sisters all over this land. But The Weekender has made some questionable financial investments at the recommendation of some shady mobsters and now he doesn’t have a hammer at all. In fact The Weekender doesn’t have anything anymore (thanks bailiffs!) except an internet connection and a knackered Dell laptop that he uses to scour the web for all sorts of hilarious jollity. Want to see what he’s found this week? Yeah you do. Course you do. There’s literally nothing else better to spend your time on right now…

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    It’s Mothering Sunday this weekend (yes, it’s too late to send a card, you’ll have to send a text again like last year) so the intro to this Weekender is Mother’s day themed. What could possibly sum up the tender, relentless love of a mother and child relationship than the fascinating lyrics of The Spice Girls’ 1996 club banger Mama:

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    Lately, I have become fascinated by provocative US pop sensation Ke$ha. After some careful study of her lyrics, I feel she may be a genius. You know how surprising it is to find out Shakespeare coined so many common phrases? Well I think Ke$ha has similarly lofty linguistic ambitions. Take her name for example – this isn’t a typo SHE ACTUALLY SPELLS IT LIKE THIS. Maverick. She also uses phrases like “sick and sexified.” In centuries to come we’ll all be saying that the whole time and someone smug will say: “You know it was Ke$ha who coined that.” You heard it hear first. Where was I? Oh right, The Weekender…

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    It’s a tough old world we live in right? Every day it seems we’re teetering on the brink of destruction from forces both internal and external. The government doesn’t seem to give two hoots about our wellbeing, our mums won’t return our calls, and how about that asteroid that almost destroyed Russia? All this crap is starting to make us feel a little bit paranoid. But that’s not even the half of it, what about those guys on Youtube that dislike the World of Warcraft video tutorials we uploaded, and don’t even get us started on the Twitter backlash we have to deal with when we’re not quite as funny as we’d like to think. Still thank the lord we’ve got The Weekender to ease away the stresses and strains of modern living and let us know that everything’s going to be alright…

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    I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking “Where does The Weekender go from Monday morning through to Friday afternoon?” and you know what, you’re right to wonder. It’s quite the conundrum! But in the same way that you ponder as a child where babies come from, only to be reviled by the answer when your poor hounded father finally reveals the secrets of procreation, discovering the day-to-day habits of the world’s favourite weekly, whimsical culture roundup will only leave you feeling sad, hollow and ultimately disappointed. So call off that private investigator, put down your binoculars and stop following The Weekender around like a creep (don’t think we won’t issue a restraining order). That’s better. Now let’s get on with dishing out the good stuff….

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    The best baddie in cinematic history is not Darth Vader or Blofeld, oh no, it’s Shooter McGavin from Happy Gilmore. Just as you’re about ready to mentally kill the actor that plays Shooter purely because of his character, this bit of dialogue happens that suddenly makes you realise he’s not worth your time. Happy and Shooter are arguing and Shooter goes “Just stay out of my way… or you’ll pay! Listen to what I say!” only for Happy to reply “Hey, why don’t I just go eat some hay, make things out of clay, lay by the bay? I just may! Whaddya say?” which is basically the best comeback line in history. Take the feeling of that triumphant moment, times it by eleven, and that’s how good The Weekender is.

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    Hold on to your hats kids, we’re coming to the end of a MASSIVE week and The Weekender’s gearing up for a proper bender. There’s a birthday going on at Weekender HQ and the party rings and punch are in full swing. But what’s that, you wish there was some way you could be more involved? Well let me tell you something, you can! Come on in, there’s no guest list on the door of this friendly shindig – but there is a massive bouncer ready to nut you one in the face if you misbehave. Don’t misbehave.

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    Hey little boy, watcha got there? Kind sir it’s The Weekender I’ve found. Did you find it in the sandy ground? No, I found it strapped onto the back of a daily art and culture website, lurking. Oh. What does it do? I’m not sure yet, but it seems to enjoy regaling people with tales of the week that was, and making them laugh in a guilty way. Not a full-blown guttural laugh, but a kind of embarrassed, knowing snigger. Sounds good yeah? YEAH! YEEAAAAAAHHHHH!

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    “I hear the drums echoing tonight, but she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation. She’s coming in 12:30 flight, the moonlit wings reflect the stars that guide me towards salvation. I stopped an old man along the way hoping to find some old forgotten words or ancient melodies. He turned to me as if to say… " I’m gong to have to stop you there Toto, what the hell are you talking about? It may have been the 1980s when you wrote this drivel but your nonsense lyrics and harassing of geriatric passers-by is unacceptable by today’s standards. Leave that poor old man alone and come with me, The Weekender, purveyor of joyful nuggets and the gatekeeper of Saturday and Sunday. I’ve got a lesson to teach you…

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    Lean back and close your eyes, block out any extraneous noises and focus on being calm. I’m going to take you deep into your subconscious to help you reveal your inner Weekender. As the silence and calm envelops you I want you to imagine the most shameful event in your life, the soiled jeans or public nakedness that still haunts you while you sleep. Grab hold of that event with both hands, hold it aloft and tell it that it doesn’t define you, it can’t own you and it will never bring you down. SNAP! Now open your eyes and think about the stupid thing you’ve just done. What’s wrong with you? This is The Weekender and your wilful introspection isn’t welcome here. Now pick up your damp trousers and join me in the land of frivolity and joy. Shabba!

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    Here are The Weekender’s New Year resolutions in no particular order. 1. Exercise more. 2. Cut down on cheese consumption (goat/sheep, not cow). 3. Keep old love letters, throw away old bank statements. 4. Quote Baz Luhrmann’s Sunscreen wherever practical. 5. Spend less time obsessing over the finite nature of human existence and the overwhelming futility of life. 6. Floss. 7. Master the Charleston. 8. Marry someone (as in perform the ceremony). 8. Entertain, inform and get away with it. Challo!

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    Now that you’ve stuffed your face with more turkey than you’d normally touch in a year, sluiced it down with champagne, wine, port and coffee, passed wind in front of your relatives with a flagrant disregard for common courtesy and kicked back on the sofa with only the twentieth re-run of The Great Escape you’ll see in your life, you’ve got a bit of a problem – what the hell else are you going to do with the rest of Christmas day?

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    The end of the week is a cause for celebration for most of us, but spare a thought for those who help make our weekends extra special. I’m talking about the bar staff, the taxi drivers, and cheery kebab vendors who help our end of week plans come to fruition. So if you’re heading out tonight maybe on a Christmas do (Martin from accounts was TOTALLY checking you out by the way) then give them a smile and help brighten up their weekend too. This is for them…