Thank you for your email. I am out of my Canary Wharf office until August 13, 2015. (Read: I am still in my office, it’s nearly midnight, I just need to finish this final document and throw my computer out the window. I haven’t packed yet. I am crying.)
I am away on vacation. (Read: I’m on holiday. It’s called “holiday” in the UK. I’ve set the language to English UK multiple times, why do you still insist on making it sound like I’m going to Florida? Great, now I’m talking to my computer. I need a break.)
During this period I will be without internet connection. (Read: I will be taking Instagrams of my toes in front of the pool and/or sea, artful shots of sunsets, and Amaro filtered photos of exotic cocktails, which I will post to Twitter and Facebook every two minutes.
Or until Mark Zuckerberg receives enough reports of my posts being “offensive” to those stuck at work, that my account is disabled. I will then open a new account.)
And will have limited phone signal. (Read: I will stand on the toilet at 2am to try to get enough signal to pick up the four voicemail messages I have received, panicking that something terrible has happened to a member of my family.
Three will be automated PPI claims calls. The fourth will be someone’s phone calling me by accident. It will be six minutes of muffled noises I will try to decipher; as I’ll be paranoid they’re talking about me.)
I will reply to your messages on my return. (Read: I’ll reply in two minutes, just like I do when I’m in the office, but with more passive aggression.)
Your message is important to me. (Read: it isn’t.)
Thank you. (Read: ... for interrupting my holiday.)
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