Yes, it’s the weekend, assuming you’ve finished work.

As much as a love the end of a working week, I find something profoundly irritating about people who talk about the weekend as if it’s some sort of magical entity capable of curing all evils and making the world a better place. It’s not magical. It’s two days off, after which you’ll have to go back to your stultifyingly boring and depressing job, coming just to the borderline of seriously contemplating slitting your wrists by Friday, before you get to go home, get some actual sleep, spend two days wanking and crying then start the whole hideous process over again.

The worst culprit for weekend-hype is Annie Mac‘s show on BBC Radio 1. Radio 1 is irritating at the best of times, but Mac’s show takes the biscuit. Her jingles seem to consist entirely of either airhorn noises (the use of which seems to be growing in popularity, annoyingly) or special needs people yelling “It’s FRIDAY!” then giggling like they’ve got a wasp in their Jap’s-eye and don’t know whether it tickles or really fucking hurts. Take a listen if you can stomach it. The thing is, some of the music she plays is actually quite good for a Friday night drive home. But as soon as she starts talking or pressing the magic noise-making buttons on her console, I want to throw smelly things through my radio into her stupid face.

Still. The weekend is good in that you can sleep in and then get things done that you’ve been intending to do all week. Or, indeed, spend two continuous days wanking and crying, as intimated earlier. Both are perfectly acceptable uses of your time. The choice is yours.

I know what I’m planning to do.