The Weekender Festival: The Strictly Unofficial and Highly Questionable Time Guide

It’s back, summer Christmas has returned.

The Weekender is here to remind us of the death of summer and the birth of new year’s resolutions, and we cannot wait.

However, in a vain attempt to offer guidance on this joyous weekend, professional psychologist, philanthropist and sexologist Blake Dempsey has outlined some key points to remember going into The Weekender:

9:00am – 11:00am

“Wake up players, it’s time to make protein pancakes and smash some overnight oats. Need to remind your body that today is no rest day, as Jesus once said, there ain’t no rest for the wicked.”

“The Weekender starts early, but you start earlier. Espresso martinis alongside the pancakes – just to remind your body that today may be its final day on Earth. Once breakfast is out the way, you move onto the ‘creative’ outfit you, and your squad have assembled for the day.”

The Outfit

“It’s 2018, you can’t go to a festival in shorts and a t-shirt, that’s not loud enough. Instead, you’re going to don some ‘ironic’ shit shirt in a vague attempt to look shit, while also looking cool. Next year, it’ll be the other way around, bang average t-shirts will be the in-thing.”

“Once you’re protein’d up, done a few pressos (press-ups for rudebois) and applied your sick make-up, time to move onto the next event.”

11:00am – 1:00pm

“You’ve equipped your shit gears and now you’re ready to devour the 58 crates of Budweiser you’ve slugged to some poor bastard’s pre-drinks. Having a friend that lives near The Weekender is essential, if you don’t have one, tactics need to be employed. Weeks before, start liking their Insta pics, start commenting on their stuff, start sleeping with them.

“This will ensure you receive that all-important, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory ticket to the big event in the field.”

The Social Hour – 12:00

“This is arguably the best part of the day. Everyone’s on good form, make-up still on fleek, and that 9am HIIT session is doing the men some serious favours. Beer pong skills are at an all time high, you’re like Flintoff, (before he went rogue), you’re nailing this. Stay at this level, this is fantastic.

1:00pm – 3:00pm


“Your true self comes out, you start telling people how you really feel and get overly aggressive when someone questions your beer pong capabilities. This is also where you start to ditch the beers and move onto the spirits, a risqué move, because your insecurities are going to be voiced after 5 gin and tonics and no one will care – this will make you sad #badvibes.”

“Additionally, talks of promiscuity and dastardly deeds have now settled in. This is around the time you get a text from your secret lover, that sex monkey you matched on Tinder, or have been flirting with since you touched hands in Mimosa. He, or she, has now set the tone, and the conversation usually goes something like this:

Love Monkey 1: “Wut tym u getting to wknder?”

Love Monkey 2: “Dunno. soon.”

Love Monkey 1: “k see u in there.”

Love Monkey 2: ” 😛 “

Shakespeare in the works. ”

“Your confidence rises as you neck that unnecessarily strong vodka soda lime and waddle back over to the beer pong table to further fortify your massive ego with a win over two girls dressed as hippie festival cats.”

3:00pm – 4:30pm

“Time to leave, but is it? Because you said that at 2 o’clock and you’re still here at 4. Ferrying the gang out is as difficult as a blind disabled shepherd trying to pen his sheep into an imaginary barn without any sheep.”

“One more drink! One more drink!”

“No, Danielle, you’ve had a-fucking-nuff, pal. Put your bra back on and ditch the glitter and burn the hipster sunglasses, this isn’t Tomorrowland and you’re not a unicorn.”

4:30pm – 7:00pm

“You’ve left pre-drinks, pissed off the Jersey Lift person, stumbled into oncoming traffic and just about entered the festival with your eyeballs still intact.”

“Once you’ve passed through security donning your Virgin Mary face of innocence, you and your pals make the Powerpuff Girl pact to stay together forever at the festival, all seems well. However, your mate Danielle has other plans, girl needs to pee, classic Danielle, chucking a spanner in the works. Because no one can be fucked to wait for Danielle, they go to ‘get a drink’, a classic excuse for them to just fade into oblivion.

“Meanwhile, the blokes are arguing over which mad tent they want to explore, and how they’ll settle their beef with each other on the dodgems. There’s always one bloke that claims he knows the entire discography of some rudeboi DJ and forces everyone to attend the pre-pubescent dance asylum. This usually ends up in you leaving him there to crack on with some deep house fanatics wearing Adidas tracksuits.”

The Festival Text

“At some point during the festival, everyone will experience this conversation via text:

Blake: “Where are you?”

Dave: “Main stage”

Blake: “Yeah, thanks for that descriptive response, where abouts?

Dave: “To the right.”

Blake: “…Fuck me, of course, I’ll just check to the right of the one-thousand fucking people currently occupying the right-hand side of the main stage, Dave. You illusive fictitious fuckwit.”

“Please, for the sake of every lost, wandering islander separated from their friendship group after seeing their part-time lover in another tent – don’t respond like this. You might as well tell them you’re in fucking Sark.”

7:00pm – 11:00pm


“No one knows where anyone is. If you’re still somehow in a group, stick with them, even if you hate them. They are now your family. No one will answer their phones, because they’re either making friends in the St John’s ambulance tent, or sacrificing their children to Rita Ora.”

“If you’re on your own, the last few hours are going to be spent scouring through the seas of people, desperately hoping to spot Dave’s fat head and stupid hat in the crowd. If your adventure through the main stage is not fruitful, there’s only one other option: dance tent.

“Once you enter the void, you’re there for eternity. If the strobes don’t force you into epilepsy, the teenagers bouncing up and down to the new tune by XIX-FORTNITE$LUT$-6969XxX will.

11:00pm – The End

“Bus to town, or go home and ravish 2 pizzas and the 30 free Pepsis you’ve been given?”

“If you’re getting the bus, watch out for that one group who thinks skrrr skrrr’ing through the neighbouring field will get them to the front of the bus queue. Nada, this year, I have personally chucked a bunch of cows in that field, so if you want to try your hand at the cow-human version of the dodgems, go for it, also live stream it, you millennial scumbag.

“Either way, town is for pussies. Bed is where it’s at.”

3 Other Scenes that Will Ensue

1. Captain muggins messes with the music at pre-drinks

“Don’t touch the Spotify playlist I have been slaving over for 2 months, Dave. But he’s all like:

“Fuccckkkiiinnn Blake, have you heard the new Wub Wub Dub Dub tune by X69bitches999HD? It will blow your socks off, my friend.”

“No, Dave, we will instead, be listening to James Blunt and my boy George Ezra and how he’s constantly riding shotgun, probably due to an alcoholism issue that will be covered in his next album.

2. One of your friends doesn’t make it out

“Standard. Grow up Mellisa, the fuck you downing 3 bottles of Sauvignon blanc for at 10am? Yeah, you’re hard as nails, but you’re also dumb as fuck – sort it out. Now I have to ring your mum and wait for you to get shovelled out the gaff while everyone else is flummoxing into oncoming traffic down Trinity Hill.”

3. Who’s throwing piss in a cup, again?

“Come on fellas, this isn’t Glastonbury, the toilets are literally as far away as your ‘lil bitch arm has just thrown your cup of urine. Plus, if you throw piss at me, I will find you, and I will actually urinate on you.

“Anyway, enough of that, Summer Christmas is here, my friends, so lets make the last days of summer a cluster-fuck-of-fun.”

Dempsey out.