HANDY-MAN (©Words & music by Paul F. Cowlan)

For mobile-phone users everywhere; particularly those who seem convinced that quacking loudly and interminably about nothing in particular in a public place is in some way impressive or endearing.

I’m a cool communicator,
keep in touch wherever I am.
Got your number and sooner or later,
I’m gonna be your Handy-man.

Desk-top, laptop, palmtop, fingertip.
E-mail, Female, Fax or Phone.
Call me any time on the roving number.
A Handy-man is always home.

On the train, in the traffic, in Maine in Mafeking,
satellite magic and you’re on-line.
Sitting on the toilet seat or walking down the High Street,
give me just a bleep and say you’re mine.

This is your randy Handy Andy
leaving you a message on your answer-phone,
voice as sweet as pink sugar candy
to turn you on when you get home.

‘Cos I’m a hot and strong long-distance lover.
Drive you crazy when I speak your name.
Ring off for long enough for you to work the passion off,
then call you back another time and do it all again.

Ting-a-ling-a buzz-bleep. Dialling numbers in my sleep.
I’ll do anything to keep the chat-line free.
At the risk of failure, or calls to south Australia
made by another mother, but charged to me!

Pessimists are saying microwaves can give you brain strain,
migraine or a pain to drain your thoughts away.
I’ve even heard the rumour they can be the cause of tumours,
but I’ve got a sense of humour and I’m OK.

I’m a porta-packer, handy-quacker, chat-ack-acker, party-hacker,
fast car, singles-bar or cool café.
You will always hear the chattering of my ackermarackering
until it makes you wonder what I find to say.
Load of rubbish anyway!

So lift your handset, call my number. Bell me, tell me. Don’t delay.
But we could never meet because I couldn’t stand the heat
and if I had to greet you face to face I’d fade away.

And that’ll be the day!