UGG Australia

Initial message:

Date: Mon, 25 Nov 2013 18:21:07 +0800

To: the_niesche@hotmail.co.uk
From: customer@uggfull.com
Subject: UGG Boots Sale: 65% off TODAY ONLY

Hi Nhsells, Enjoy 65% Off Everything-In Stores Only! View Online | Unsubscribe women's men's boots slippers kids new arrivals All Ugg Boots Free Shipping sale 65 % OFF shop now Hurry - limited time only! last day! Up to 10% Extra off Extra 5% Off For 2 Items, 10% Off For 3 or More. Make a call to UGG (001) 518-3003188 for your answers women series men series kids series women Boots slippers Women Collection Men Boots Slippers Men Favorites Big Kids Little Kids Kids Baby If you have any questions, please contact us at Service@uggfull.com This email was sent to the_niesche@hotmail.co.uk from customer@uggfull.com. To ensure you receive our emails, please add customer@uggfull.com to your address book. You are receiving this message because you have signed up at uggfull.com to receive our email communications If you wish to leave this mailing, you can Unsubscribe here. Normally, goods will be shipped out within 48 hours after the payment has been verified (weekend and holidays excluded). We ship products throughout the worldwide via the most honest express companies including EMS, DHL, UPS and FedEx and so on. Please provide a valid and detailed shipping address so that the packages could reach your place. Once we ship your package, we will send you tracking No. as soon as possible to follow up. Copyright 2013 uggfull.com, Inc. 2139 A .Manning Road .Double Bay w 2748 Australia

Reply:

21:50

To: UGG® Australia, Service@uggfull.com

Hello UGGERS,

Can i first of all state that no, i absolutely did not 'sign up at uggfull.com' to receive your email offers BUT (and this is actually a very large and special 'BUT') by some weird piece of cosmic synchronicity i was about to email YOU with an offer of my very own!!! How very special! And my offer is infinitely more valuable than a paltry 65% off and free shipping you tramps! What i offer is simply one thing: advice. Advice and ideas. Ok, two things, but it's mainly advice alright?
You may or may not have noticed that over here in the civilised western world ladies are increasingly getting sick of wearing boots that make them look like they work as the 'comfort police' in Fluffybunnyland. You have to admit that, as 'cosy' as they may be, trotting around all day in what essentially amounts to two dead sheep on your feet isn't going to win you any style awards. They're like slippers with delusions of grandeur. Not to mention the fact that everyone else has to suffer seeing these poor (but oh so comfortable!) women wear the shit out those 'fancy slippers' until the soles shoot out to one side like they're trying to escape being trodden on all day so ladies end up looking like they've broken their fucking ankles 'cos no-one in the real world can afford to spend 150 quid on a pair of replacement bedtime wellies every month.

So, UGGs are seemingly on the way out. But do not despair! My advice to you is simply 'diversify'...................................................................................................................................................

Just let that sink in......................................................................................................................................

Mind? Blown? I'll bet it is, but save your praise! I am about to share with you my amazing idea for a new stock line to help you continue to sell over-priced woolen products to fashion-unconscious Brits! Also, you're gonna have a whole bunch of fleece-lined toe-ticklers to get rid of so you may as well use them for something. So what is this idea?................................

'Cock Wallets'

A subtle and unique combination of the novelty 'cock warmers' popular in seaside town joke shops in the 80's, and that most outdated of monetary containers: the wallet. Bringing you the warmth and comfort of a toothless prossies mouth coupled with the convenience and security of keeping your 'pieces of silver' right next to your 'crown jewels'. Once your johnson is safely tucked up in its wooly bed you can rest assured that no self-respecting pick pocket (prick pocket? or maybe even pick cocket??) is going to have the 'balls' (hahahahahahaha!) to slip his hand down the front of your strides for the sake of a few pennies. And even if they did, what would they find? With the downy interior taking care of any post-wee dribbles, they'd discover a soft, warm and dry penis to welcome their dirty thieving hand. You know this one's a winner (or should that be 'weiner'!). I've even thought of some advertising slogans:

1. 'Ugger me!' A clever play on that most British of phrases 'bugger me' which serves two meanings, being both an invite by the consumer to your company to furnish his needy penis with your groundbreaking product, and also a reference to the act of 'buggery' which is sort of what the consumer will be doing when he pops his winky into the fluffy sheath, resembling as it undoubtedly will, a sheeps anus. 

2. 'Fort Knackers'. A reference to the American 'Fort Knox', being the archetypal secure money depository, and probably a very comfortable money depository at that.

3. Actually, i could only think of two. Sorry.

By the way i've trademarked the name 'Cock Wallets', i know you Aussies are all descended from criminals and as we all know thievery is genetic! I want my propers!

Peace,
Niesche x

Sharon Osbourne

Dear Sharen

I was thinking recently about your future career as it seems your run as quein of the x factor is likely coming to an end (source: The Daily Star, so it must be true). Due to your position as ‘national treasure’ and all round ‘strong woman archetype’ it would seem the only logical step up the career ladder for you is to be the actual quein of England! Because let’s face it, Liz is looking tired. What the royalty in this country needs is an injection of spunk. Forget that boring hippie freak Charles and his horse-faced son Bill, I’m fully on the quein Sharen bandwagon! In support of this I have taken the liberty of preparing your application form for the position of quein. There’s no need to thank me….

Application for the Position of the Quein

Name: Sharen Osborn

Address: Amurica

Email address:thenextquein@twatmail.com

Do you hold a full clean driving licence?        No don’t be ridiculous! I am chauffeur driven in a chariot made of peasants!

Preferred hours:

Please tick when you are unavailable:

	Monday	Tuesday	Wednesday	Thursday	Friday	Saturday	Sunday
AM
PM	/ Counting my huge wads of cash		/ Shaving horses			/ On x factor	/ On x factor

Education/Qualifications:

Manager of a band what was popular

Qualification – Being good at shouting at people

Grade – B

On telly in my own family show

Qualification – Being on telly + Teaching kids to swear

Grade – C

On telly again

Qualification – x factor judge and ‘national treasure’

Grade - C       

Training Courses:

Being Sharen Osborne:

Incl. -

·         Developing an over-inflated air of self-importance.

·         Talking down to plebs.

·         Level 3 swearing

X Factor judge:

Incl. –

·         Shouting down people to win an argument

·         Level 3 Patronising

·         Professional arrogance

Professional Insulting:

Incl. –

·         Calling Chris Tarrant a ‘cunt’

Current Membership of Any Professional Body/Organisation:

Member of the Society of Delusional Idiots Who Think They Are Better Than Everyone Else (Honorary)

Wolverhampton and District Working Men’s Club – Committee member

Member of the ‘People Who Have Called Chris Tarrant A Cunt’ Society

Current or Most Recent Employer:

Name of Employer: The x factor

Date Started: I dunno, ages ago.

Leaving Date: Left 2011 but then came back cos I was bored not being on telly in 2013

Brief Description of Duties:

   In my role as x factor judge it is my job to lie in a high pitched whiny voice to poor sods who can/cannot sing in order to give them the misguided impression that ‘being a pop star’ will automatically bring them happiness, instead of telling them the truth of the matter which is that any short term gain in self esteem will be counteracted in a hugely disproportionate way by the crushing sense of despair and disillusionment they will inevitably experience when they are no longer ‘flavour of the month’. Speaking of ‘crushing sense of despair’ I also have to humiliate and patronise individuals during the ‘auditions’ who are clearly suffering with a variety of mental health problems and cannot sing or perform for toffee and who should never have been allowed in front of the camera in the first place hopefully reducing them to tears in the process but who cares eh it makes great tv. As a judge I also have to engineer column inches in tabloid newspapers by starting ‘feuds’ with my fellow judges, like when I bully little Louis Welsh, or saying ‘controversial’ things like “I didn’t like that”, “Get a bloody haircut you tramps dog” or “Shut up Tarrant you cunt”. 

Supporting Statement:

   Please use this section to demonstrate why you think you would be suitable for the post by reference to the job description and person specification (and by giving examples and case studies).  Please include all relevant information, whether obtained through formal employment or voluntary/leisure activities. Attach and label any additional sheets used. See guidance sheet for further information.

   I am Sharen Osborne. I am DEFINITELY quein material, just look at my cheekbones! I’ve got ‘condescending pout’ down to a fine art. I ‘swan about thinking I own the place’ like a proper professional quein. I eat things like kumquats and them posh grapes without the seeds in and I have milk made of diamonds. After years of plastic surgery my vag has been completely filled in and smoothed over and I am now completely asexual, just like the real quein. I don’t even have nipples, I had them removed yonks ago and now I use them as the push buttons on my doorbell at home. I look fucking great on stamps. I have proved that I can act with grace and dignity under pressure, like that time when I called Chris Tarrant a ‘cunt’ in front of an audience of adults and children alike. I am scared of bees. My husbend Oswald was a professional musician for many years and is a devout Christian, he even named his band after the sabbath! Our kids are weird, just like the real queins! I have stupid little dogs. I once gave a quid to a homeless. Erm…I ‘look marvellous for my age’ whilst ‘doing a great job’….or something. That’ll do won’t it?

   There you go Sharen, the job is in the fucking bag!! Do me a favour though, when you get the quein job can you hang Louis Welsh off Tower Bridge by his knackers so that every time a car goes over he shakes violently and his flabby jowls vibrate making him look really really stupid. Thanks.

   Peace,

   Niesche x   

Tracey Emin

Subject: The intertextual possibilities of the sexual-self

Hi Tracey,

I have some ideas for an art project but i have neither the time nor the requisite spunk to carry them out so i thought i'd contact the greatest name in post-modern art this country has ever produced (that's YOU Tracey) to see if she would help me realise my artistic vision. I do so hope you can help me 'colour in my outline'.

As a man with a functioning penis of flesh and blood i am overcome with a daily urge to recontextualise and deconstruct the sex act down to it's fundamental animalistic uber-aggressivity. Looking around this decaying fetid pus-encrusted heap-of-cock country i see secular sexualisation of humanity at every turn. Billboards literally scream the primal roar of orgasm directly into our collective unconscious, showering and sullying our sub-egotistic sense of sexual self in a sordid miasma of slick, sticky, superannuated secretions. 
My artistic inner-vision calls for a nouveau-grandiose addressing of this socially-misrepresented and unhealthy union betwixt penii and vagine: a brand new, thrilling and exciting approach that challenges our context-heavy presuppositions of the sex act while at the same time arousing the primeval jelly from our brain-base to come forth in an orgiastic explosion of high-brow filth.
My idea then, is this: Imagine if you will Tracey my love, entering a gallery space. That very act at once explicitly symbolizing not only the penetrative act of sex itself, you Tracey being a giant penis and the doorway a robust but welcoming vaginal/anal/nasal cavity, but also at the same time representing a contextually unique pastiche of the mind-rape perpetrated by the media sexualisation of the self.

You are then immediately greeted with the first of three pieces representing my artistic interpretation of the animalistic vagueness of human sexuality: a giant photograph of a lion's erect cock with the word 'POOF' written across it (i'm thinking a sans-serif font but am open to suggestions).
In this shocking yet thrilling moment the viewer is presented with a three-fold assessment of their own sex-ego: the sense of voyeuristic guilt at witnessing true animalistic sexuality; the direct questioning of the viewers same-sex biases, creating an internal monologue along the lines of "By staring intently at this grand feline phallus, am I the poof to which this statement alludes?? Have my inner-homophobic tendencies, all but hidden by my middle-class pretensions, now been exposed as the raw chauvinistic/feministic privileges they truly are?? Did that lion's cock just call me a poof???"; and most profoundly, is my hitherto unchallenged binary view of human/animal sexuality redundant, lost into a sea of grey shades that hold the entirety of animal sexual experience where lion and man are neither 'straight' nor 'queer' but instead drowning in a hot plasma pool of sexual possibilities?

Moving on one is then presented with the second statement: a close up actual penetration shot of bunny rabbit cock into bunny rabbit vagina with the word 'BESTIALITY' in tiny tiny writing (again, probably sans-serif) all over the rabbits' faces. We are truly then in the realm of 'animal porn', confronting our inner prejudice on the normalcy of the sex act within human social interactions, fully questioning our interpretation of what constitutes pornography. If we are indeed all animals, is this 'bunny fucking' arousing? Or is this bunny 'fucking arousing'?? Is it a possibility that within the realms of ones own sexual head space one might indeed 'knock one out' over this hyper-real presentation of bunny coitus? In a world where a man can marry his own dog (Google it, seriously. Dude kisses that bitch with tongues and everything. Yuk!) are we perhaps ready to confront this re-contextualized and hyper-defined version of smut?

Finally, the last piece in this pseudo-triptych of sexual discovery: a 6ft by 6ft mirror, next to which is placed a hat stand and several coat hangers. This invites the viewer to first reassess their own body image in the new context of a truly animalistic sexual ego, asking them to look inside and feel for the first time that base neanderthal response to pictures of pricks and pussies thus releasing a sexual freshness which permeates their by now sebum-coated loins. The hat stand further invites a literal stripping of clothes while also offering a figurative removal of old sexual attitudes and biases, leaving the viewer to walk naked out of the space, free from an outdated and normalized vision of sexual mundaneity.

It'd also be nice if the gallery space led straight out into a cafe or something so you could get a drink and a biscuit afterwards. Oh, and I realize there are no tits in this exhibition, do you think it needs some form of tits? Maybe we could cover the floor in bats nipples or something? Just a thought.

Laters, innit.
Niesche x

The Sun

To: custserv@the-sun.co.uk

Hello the sun,

As a reader of your fine newspaper for many years i feel compelled to write to you. Well, i say 'reader' but i actually just look at the pictures and gasp softly while rolling my eyes and shaking my head from side to side in a barely noticable manner . And while 'fine' may be too strong an adjective, you're at least marginally better than that shite the daily star. Come to think of it, 'news'paper might be stretching it a bit too, but you do at least have the self control to not resort to putting big brother or x factor on the cover every bloody day. Ok, i'll start again....

As a viewer of your sub-par collection of boderline-trivial nonsense for many years i feel compelled to write to you. Now, on the subject of your 'page 3', like every decent, upstanding male in this wonderful country of ours i am frankly disgusted with your treatment of the female form. Over the thirty odd years of printing page 3 models you have managed in no uncertain terms to systematically subvert the glorious breasts of our shapely sisters into sexless, cold, pointless balloons of ridicule. I used to love tits!! Now, after reading (sorry, 'viewing') your pathetic attempts at titillation over the decades i can't look down ladies tops anymore without imagining them with a stupid plastic smile surrounded by delicate foliage. Whenever i see a topless beauty parading down the beach in Majorca i no longer think 'Phwooar you don't get many of them to the pound!!!', but instead a useless random fact pops into my head like 'Today is national no-baking day and Silvia here is not impressed! "I love a good ol' British bake me, honest. You should come over and taste my buns the vicar sez there incredible!"'.

I honestly don't know how you manage, day after flaccid, sexless day, to turn something as beautiful as ladytits into asexual lumps of goosepimpled flesh. You've ruined tits!!!! How on earth can you ruin tits??!!! I've seen pictures of corpses looking sexier than any of your generic 'beauties'. Is it the lighting you use? Do you photoshop the tits afterwards, like is there a 'remove sexiness' option and you click it to turn the tit equivalent of Beyonce into a breast-like Whoopi Goldberg?! From 'cum' tits to 'mum' tits in one easy step?

If you are indeed as serious as you have claimed to be in the past about objectifying and reducing "intelligent, vibrant young women" (Rebekah 'prison food isn't all that bad you know, you'll get used to it' Brooks, 2014) to 1-dimensional reflections of men's animalistic urges then it's about time you bucked your bloody ideas up. 'Titillation'?? Pfft! They're about as titillating as Rupert Murdoch's hairy arsehole. After being fisted by Giant Haystacks. Come to think of it that is actually quite titillating. Ok, they're about as titillating as seeing Lady Di fellate Bernard Manning (and yes i know they're both dead that's exactly my point. Just imagine Di's raggedy cadaver and smashed up face and jaw trying in vain to stimulate dead Bernards tiny racist penis into life, blood and spittle cascading down his fat-as-fuck legs. You see? Not titillating).

I suggest the very least you could do is to simply ramp up the tit quotient per model by cutting out pictures of tits and sticking them all over the models tits to give a kind of 'multi-tit' effect. This mammary overload
would potentially scramble the brain of the viewer in the hope of resetting the mind to the original base response when viewing naked busters: the well known and deceptively respectful 'phwooar'. Follow this strategy for a few weeks and i'm sure i will once again be able to demean and undervalue women with the ease of a professional rapist. If you want rampant sexism to continue to flourish in this country then it is your duty to remedy this 'spoiled knockers' shambles at once.

Good day,
Niesche x

Starbucks

Dear people of starbuckes,

I've been visiting one of your coffee dispensaries on the regular for the past few months and have found myself suddenly possessed by the powerful yet strange urge to email you. The only other emotive experience i can liken this urge to is the feelings of sickly unease one gets when cooking eggs at an inappropriate time of the day (say around 1:45pm which is way beyond the normally accepted boundries for taking luncheon). What are the constituent parts of this urge i hear you mumble? Well people of storbeckss, throughout my visits to your ball-achingly smug 'cafe' i have been struck by several "phenomenally wonderful" (not my words sturbocks, the words of the late Dustin Gee no less!) ideas relating to improving the general ambience of your greeny-brown 'looks-similar-to-mcdonalds-but-with-marginally-better-food' establishments.


Firstly i propose a solution to that age old coffee shop problem of what i like to call 'smug laptop twats'. You know the sort, sitting there going "oooh look at me look at me, i'm so hip and important and my 'work' is so special that i even have to tap away on my macbook vagina while sipping a latte, i don't have time to take 'breaks' oh no this spreadsheet detailing all the spreadsheets i've wasted time on over the last year is far too important" when we all know that what they're actually doing is what we all do when we have free time in front of a computer: staring at a blank google homepage trying desperately to think of something interesting to look at that we can then post on facebook later to satisfy our daily 'like' addiction.

Now obviously we can't go around smearing our own feaces onto their laptop screens and pissing in their coffee, and let's face it we've ALL thought about doing that haven't we stirbricks? No, that would be uncouth. So instead i suggest the widespread construction and implementation of 'twat screens' that can be placed around the offending dickheads so they can pretend to work in peace and we don't have to suffer the unhealthy yellow glow of smugness emanating from their every pore. You could even put pictures of bees or daddy longlegsses on one side so we could all imagine we were frolicking in a summer meadow instead of having our peripheral vision filled with overly-serious wankers with ridiculously neat beards.



Secondly, i have always found the taboo nature of toilet visits upsetting and as stickshits is a forward thinking company i wanted to offer you the opportuninty to be the first to embrace my new concept of 'open-toileting'. As your toilets are always in full view of the 'shop-floor' so to speak there is no avoiding the awkwardness that manifests whenever one of your party decides it is time to ablute. As soon as they leave the table the internal monologue begins: "is it a wee wee or a shit?"; "they've been more than 2 minutes, must be shitting"; "6 minutes now, are they constipated??". Then other tables join in this hive-mind of toilet speculation: "That guy has been a while, must be shitting. Now i'm thinking of a stranger shitting. And i'm drinking coffee, a tepid brown substance with a bitter aftertaste! I'm drinking that stranger's shit!!!". You can see the problems that can arise from this toilet ambiguity.

So my proposed solution is to eliminate this uncertainty once and for all. A simple button system, installed at the door to the toilet and once more in each cublicle, presents the toileter with several options. Upon entering the toilet you make the first choice by pressing one of two buttons highlighting your intention by flashing the words 'HAVING A WEE' or 'IT'S A CRAP I'M AFRAID' above the door for all to see. For a straight up wee wee no further option is required, however the second cubicle button choice allows the more serious toileter to 'update their status' mid-visit with options like "It's a clean drop, two wipes at most", "This little fella is a bit shy, he's gonna take some coaxing out", "I'd give it 5 minutes if i were you", or simply "Houston, we have a problem". This would thus eliminate the doubt in customers minds, setting everyone at ease again and able to re-direct their thoughts of cack to more coffee-appropriate subjects, like how some big coffee shop brands relentlessly attempt to monopolise the cafe industry by aggressively targeting prime real estate for instance. Or maybe tax avoidance.



Finally, you know that thing you do where you ask for my name when i order a drink then you write it in a barely legible scribble on the side of my cup? Can you just like stop doing that please? It makes my tits itch. Cheers.



Peace,

Niesche x

The most pointless, boring reply possible. Wankers:

Dear Nick,

Thank you for contacting Starbucks Coffee Company. We welcome feedback from our customers and I have shared your comments with the appropriate team for their attention.

If you have any other questions or concerns, please don't hesitate to get in touch.

Sincerely,

Matthew N.
customer service

 

Tesco

Dear tescows,

I am a passionate man with a great deal of time on his hands and a predisposition towards righteous indignation. As a result of this unique and wonderful combination of elements i have taken it upon myself to begin a new campaign against a great offence within the supermarket community and i would hope that the great and good of tescows will recognise the importance of this campaign and get behind it with spunky gusto!
I am of course speaking of the phallogocentric mis-appropriation and blatant gender bias prevelant in the categorisation of meat products. I realise your fine organisation will of course be fully aware of the controversy surrounding these semantic issues however for the purposes of absolute clarity i feel i ought to spell it out. I am also intending to forward this email on to the morons at the asda and those wooly-headed half-wits wouldn't know a deconstructivist approach to phallogocentric meat product gender-bias if it came and shitted on their lurid green-uniformed faces.

Let's begin with chickens. The inherent sexism within butchery in 2013 is nowhere more apparant than in the blatant male-centric categorisation and sexual objectification of that most glorious of poultry, the chicken.
Chickens: the providers of life in their unselfish production of 'eggs'; the embodiment of 'the feminine' with their strong tone and versatility of real-world knowledge application - shockingly objectified by reductionist sexualised terms for their nutritious femi-flesh such as 'thigh', 'neck' and 'leg', and the absolute worst in this pantheon of hyper-sexualised filth: 'breasts'. In applying such reductionist logic to the nomenclature of fleshy hen products the meat industry creates a metanarrative driven by a phallogocentric bias which deconstructs the complexity of the poultry-feminine to a base level of objectified and sexualised bodily organs. Namely, 'tits'. (And lets face it, who the fuck wants to eat 'chicken tits' anyway?)
In order to address this imbalance i propose the first stage of my grand campaign: in short, the re-appropriation of the semantics of chicken-meat identification to encompass and reflect the intertextual complexities of womanhood while redirecting the male-centric bias towards a less femi-focused, more genderqueer terminology. My solution to this quandry is to rename and thus under-sexualise and mirror the pangender nature of the flesh in question. To this end I suggest we simply call it 'chicken'. "Are you a leg or a breast man?!"..."I am neither. I am a CHICKEN man! (sorry, person! I am a CHICKEN PERSON)".

At the other end of this spectrum of male-centric muck is the graceful and majestic pig. Rather predictably the phallogocentric bias is in this case inverted, the pig being identified as overtly masculine as reflected in the pseudo-aggressive hyper-sexualised terminology of the 'cuts'. The 'shoulder' (strong, powerful and muscular), 'knuckle/shank' (violent, aggressive and 'boney'), and most repugnant of all: the 'loin'. If there was ever a cut of meat which embodies the rape-centric eroticism perpetrated by the male led butchery movement it is the vile 'loin'. The aggressive, thrusting, hard 'loin' - penetrating the mouths of the innocent, subverting the consensuality of the sexually-charged act of eating, further promoting the meta-agenda of the butcher pseudo-rapists. In continuing to persist with these blatantly sexist terms you imbue a filth-narrative at the very heart of the pork experience: the 'shoulder' giving power to the restraint of the femi-victim; the 'knuckle' enforcing and promoting the fear of the abused; and the 'loin' violating and sullying the cleanliness and delicate femininity of the recipient. Talk about a male-chauvanist pig. To remedy this i propose a renaming of all pork products, reducing the inherent sexuality by simply calling it 'pig'. (You can keep bacon though. Bacon is just bacon. Bacon bacon bacon bacon. Bacon).

One further point of general meat-naming wrongness: 'mince'. Blatantly homophobic, the 'mince' meat is presented as 'less than meat', a cruel reduction of substance and texture, reflective of the hyper-aggressivity of phallogocentric homophobic male butchery bias, and presented as less masculine than the firm solidity of a shoulder, a leg or a bollock.

I trust you will take these recommendations on board and apply a new gender-neutral approach to the categorisation of meats, allowing a more femi-positive message to permeate the narratives of our shopping lives.

Many thanks for your time,
Niesche x

Reply

Dear Niesche
My name is Giorgia, I am the Customer Service Manager responsible for responding to your email.

Thank you for contacting us.

Please let me assure you that it was never our intention to cause any offence to the public concerning the labelling of our meat products.

I have forwarded your comments to our Business Support Team who will be sure to inform the appropriate departments.

Once again, I would like to offer my sincere apologies for any offence caused and if I can be of further assistance in future, please do not hesitate to contact me.

Kind regards

Giorgia Warsama
Tesco Customer Service