Spoken word, modern dance, house, techno, Charleston, bitch-pop - and that's just the music. What's that? You don't feel like dancing? Well tough. Go on: live a little. You only get one go at it, and besides, we've even thrown some exercise and a car boot sale into the mix to keep your body a temple and shopaholic tendencies satisfied. How's that for spoilt.

This Weekend's Guide is brought to you in association with Tiffany & Co. Bedazzling, elegant, and nigh on legendary, the jewellery house will always be, in the words of Holly Golightly, "the best place in the world, where nothing bad can take place. "Kind of like a perfect Summer weekend then.

Jonathan Lunn Dance Company: Reading Room
The relationship between physical and verbal communication goes beyond a well-timed f*** off and the finger, apparently. With narration from Miranda Richardson, this fusion of dance and spoken word features dancers from Edge and texts including Beckett's 'Stirrings Still' and original work by the late Anthony Minghella.

Kiss My Black Ass
Big yellow taxis, a floppy slice of pepperoni, and the cheap dollar ain't all that New York has to offer. Quentin Harris' deep-house KissMyBlackAss party ups its NYC sticks and heads to East Village for its first UK appearance, as Severino and Jim Stanton of Horse Meat Disco unite with Faith constituents Stuart Patterson and Jimmy P for a full-fat, supersized disco workout.

Late of the Pier
Alas, the time has come where the glorious smell of east end outdoor shape-throwing wafts in the air like the neighbours' cooking as Late of the Pier bring their revved-up techno-pop to a car park - yes, that's right - near you. With DJ sets from Annie Mac, Midnight Mike and a secret live act, what will they think of next?

Prohibition
It's that time again folks: surreptitious gin in teacups, sneaky cigarettes (though no longer inside), and all the associated paraphernalia of a swinging, bygone era. No, it's not boarding school; it's the 1920s. Don your spats, bring your flappers, behold the fabulous Ziegfield Girls, gamble away your father's wealth and enjoy DJs trying to mix through gramophones.

Smithfield Nocturne
It's not that I can't. I just don't: I don't walk, I don't run, and I definitely don't do bikes. Ever. But watching? Watching I do. Pretty well, in fact. And watching 200 people racing around Smithfields on bikes while I stand and get drunk in a throng of fellow sadistically-inclined spectators? That I do even more.

Around the World in 80 Days
Old Phileas never knew he'd inspire a whole night of global debauchery when he set off in his balloon, but that's exactly what the folk over at White Mischief have done. Live musical acts including Ebony Bones and Oojami, a hall of oracles, snake charmers and lots of people dressed up in Victoriana; all a load of hot air? Phileas would approve.

Vauxhall Art Car Boot Sale
It's a sad time for the once-lauded automobile. Not only are a load of them doomed to spend the weekend carrying a load of art-junk made by people with monikers like 'The Kuntists' and 'King Groovy', but what do they get in exchange? Their bodies covered in graffiti and derrieres sold for a grand each. Bloody artists. Whatever happened to respect?

Stokefest
A quick lesson in mathematics for you. There are 30,000 of you happy festivalites wandering around Clissold Park, divided by 250 artists, with 40 community organizations, 90 stalls, and a heaving 7 hours to conquer them all. So what does that leave me with? No idea? So maths was never your strong point either. Oh well. See you at the beer tent then?

Phone In Sick
The morning after the night before is a dark, dark place. Yet somehow, like childbirth, the pain is soon forgotten, and when it hits the PM, we hit the bar. Take heed of those Shoreditch hipsters and pull a sickie if only to let BoomBox's Jerry Bouthier and Fonteyn work you into a state of mania on the underlit dancefloor.