Dear Mr. Boy
Re: Kiss Me Thru The Phone


Please reply to this missive instantly. I have endeavoured on several occasions to call you on 6-7-8-9-9-9-8-2 as quoted within your ‘R and B Hip Hop crossover’ and initially encountered the engaged tone (or 'busy signal’ as I understand you Yankees insist on naming it) before finally finding my rings answered not by your rapping self but instead an extremely polite though slightly terse gentleman in Oldham, who I have pledged will remain anonymous, and who, whilst the epitome of courtesy, informed me that he was, in fact, rather jaded and depleted in resolve at having been subject to a constant bombardment of enquiries from ‘fans’, requesting that he enact the pivotal premise of your Billboard Hot 100 3rd chart placing. The fact that he had also registered with British Telecom’s excellent ex-directory facility in order to shield stranger influxes only adds insult to injury. I have since learned that if Americans redial, adopting a renowned Western Hemisphere prefix, they will connect to an answerphone message that you have pre-recorded as a ‘gift’ to the aforementioned misdirected devotees. I sincerely hope that you will forgive my impertinence in declaring that, had this caveat been clearly advocated within the piece, then Mr. Matley might have been saved some considerable time and inconvenience.

The motivation, Sir, behind my eagerness to confabulate stems from emails that I have today sent to the inventor of the wind-up radio, Trevor Baylis, and Denman’s Electrical Wholesalers Ltd on Malvern Road. The former recipient is now heavily active in providing guidance to new inventors relating to patenting and securing trademarks for their innovations, and I recently heard from a fellow patron of The Commodore public house in Southbourne that the Assistant Supervisor of the latter, one Stan McCauley, is a very amiable fellow whom we may well be able to persuade to grant us a window display and three or so yards of shelf space for the stocking of several units, providing that our costings are sufficient for him to achieve a modest profit whilst not exceeding the fiscal expectations of his loyal consumer base.

I must, Mr. Boy, profess, at the risk of causing unintended offence, that you may not be comprehensively au courant with the gargantuan marketability potential of your revolutionary contrivance, or, to translate my words into the street slang gangsta lingo that I know you to hold so dear,

“Ya don’t know what yous R sittin on, Homey”

Upon first listen to the presumably Amstrad Tennis Game homaging paean to a betrothed person, placed at an unspecified, yet obviously out of earshot, distance from you, I took your dawdling scat to be merely a fond request for said yet to be matrimonially melded suitor (or ‘future wifey’) to simulate an osculation by way of a clearly audible puckering hovered slightly in ascent of the contraption’s concealed microphone, in order to orally express a hopefully forthcoming irrevocable three dimensional labial agglutination, as well as a symbolic disembodiment of yearning to be in the corporeal realm of her good self, whereupon actual lip union may be mutually enjoyed.

I was further and repetitively exposed to the ‘lyrics’, however, courtesy of a recent visit from my nephew, who insisted upon setting you to ‘repeat’ on his ‘eyephone’, all the way through Jasper Carrott’s Goldenballs, and helping himelf to an entire box of chocolates given to us last week by our neighbours Wilf and Olive to celebrate our anniversary, and it was not until I was presented with the empty box of Miniature Heroes, and a deceptively earnest painter and decorator from Weston-Super-Mare swore on his mother’s grave that he would ‘split’ before relieving his furious fellow contestant of their half share of £8,820, that the full implications of your entreaty finally struck me.

I sincerely believe, my misspelt young Armed Forces Land component member monikered potential business chum, that your ground-breaking brainchild could yield startlingly lucrative dividends, not only via the aforementioned retailer but, more importantly, the combined income streams of QVC, Ideal World and the oft-neglected goldmine that is the Sunday morning covered market. I remain respectfully flummoxed as to precisely how one can somehow transcend the solid matter of one’s (in my case) Binatone mouthpiece with one’s clenched lower face pout and transport it via a network-borne electrical signal whereupon it may pierce the circuitry and outer casing of one’s fellow discourser’s likewise solid matter ‘handset’, and converge with their similarly contorted visage, thus contravening all currently accepted laws of physics and redefining conventional science, but will leave all that technical gubbins up to you.

Needless to say, time is of the essence, now that news of the revolutionary breakthrough has been exposed to the public domain via the internet and Choice 96.9/107 FM, hence immediate copyright licensing and a rapidly enforceable manufacturing and distribution strategy and process must be our speedily expeditable priority if the gizmo is not to be purloined by perfidious fraudsters, as history has taught us only too well to be the case in the form of the low-fat frozen diet-aiding ‘coincidence’ that was the Birds Eye Healthy Options ‘range’ launching fractionally after Findus Lean Cuisine, to say nothing of Wayne’s World and Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure. Also, my angling acquaintance Frank Truman, who is not prone to exaggerate even the merest inch of an escaped perch, is insistent that his father invented the television and left the diagram on the bar for a few seconds to go to the toilet in a Glasgow pub known, at the time, to be regularly frequented by John Logie Baird.

On an unrelated note, I hope you will please forgive me for expressing my hearty disapproval of, and foisting upon you my admittedly unsolicited advice with regard to, your choice of role models upon whose lives you are intent on templating your future wedded bliss, ergo ‘You Can Be My Bonnie, I Can Be Your Clyde’. Allow me to suggest perhaps Richard and Judy, Jonathan and Jennifer Hart (who solve rather than commit crime) and/or Paul Daniels and ‘The Lovely’ Debbie McGee as far more suitable celebrity partnership paragons than those ambushed on a country road in Louisiana after a prolonged spree of murders and robberies, and cut down by a reported combined total of 75 bullets fired from a total of 130 rounds of ammunition at roughly quarter past nine in the morning on May 23rd 1934.

This minor point aside, I look forward to hearing from you hastily, and would add that, so committed am I to our imminent venture, I am prepared to invest £950 in encashed Premium Bond’s to its initial nurturing, conditional upon the drafting of a legally binding and recognised agreement based on a 50% stake.

Yours

Derek Philpott