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Dunking a bog-brush into Putin's brain-pan, ranting about robots and Philip K Dick—sure, they *claim* it's WEEKNOTES, but that's just what they want you to think, maaaan! This week, renovation approaches completion, and slavery is a concretised metaphor.

Elbow-deep in your wardrobe, shaking the silverfish out of your winter jackets and coats—turn up your collar and face the WEEKNOTES! This week, shops have been worked, and solarities speculated upon.

Wandering the forest with a hatchet, carrying home a log poached from the royal game reserve—nay, forsooth, my liege, these were never your WEEKNOTES! This week, expectations were lowered, and thus overfulfilled.

Facing the inevitable, like Don Corleone in a roomful of turn-coat lieutenants—certo non mi hai tradito per WEEKNOTES? This week, expectations are downrated, and essays are architecture.

Walking home in the dark, racking up rejections like a sci-fi nerd at the high-school prom—be a lot cooler if it was WEEKNOTES, man! This week, it's all in bits, like a dropped vase.

Peering at the concrete behind the tiles, hoping that the news isn't too bad—sorry, guv, looks like it's WEEKNOTES. This week, the energy management advice should probably have been read on Monday rather than on Friday.

Showering five times a day in between reading magical-realist comic books of the late C20th—ay caramba, donde estamos con WEEKNOTES? This week, much kin has been made.