There should by rights be a team of holiday police who wrestle your tech from your grasp as you pass through customs. At the very least there should be an amnesty box, in which you can deposit your phone and/or personal organiser for the duration of your trip. But alas, there is none of these things. And so a combination of modern communication infrastructure and weak will have allowed the tentacles of work to extend well beyond the walls of my place of employment.

When I finally get round to unpacking I find that I have forgotten my charger. This is perhaps the act of a desperate subconscious trying to save me from myself. The battery will not last the week and so the phone gets switched off. But still I find myself sneaking away from the dinner table every now and then, powering the thing up to see if there are any messages, all the while trying to avoid discovery by my family. I feel like a wireless operator for the French Resistance. Except, well, what exactly am I resisting? The chance to spend proper time with my family, the opportunity to take time out from work, the undeniable need to recharge my own batteries?

Read full story by Kevin Fong.

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