Green Onions

Seán Manchester says:

I have had no contact with Barbara Green down the years until last week when she applied to join a group that I help to administrate. The last time I heard from her was a handful of years back when she sent me a non-religious Christmas card on which she had drawn with biro a dagger in the hand of Santa Claus stabbing a snowman. This was not long after she had converted to Catholicism. I found it odd, to say the least, and did not reciprocate.

Despite having nothing to do with Barbara Green, I have nonetheless regularly been on the receiving end of her pet obsessions. These range from "nourishing broth" to "naked ceremonies" to "Lady Armytage" to "David Hepworth" (whom she quaintly calls "Liberace") and, more recently, to "Roy Barclay."

Barbara Green has it completely wrong over her "nourishing broth" and "naked ceremony" obsessions, but once she has something lodged in her head, even when the facts have been put before her in black and white, she will not budge an inch. This intransigence is part of the problem, but there must be other issues that go far deeper and are personal to her, but, of course, not me. That notwithstanding, I have become her target for reasons that I cannot fathom; reasons that are probably now lost in the darkness of the absurd. I only know that in the beginning I tried to help Barbara Green, as I try to help most people, and she rewarded that act with disloyalty and treachery by throwing in her lot with Farrant.

She has taken of late to addressing me intimately by my first name, something she has never done in the past, not even when we were first acquainted and on quite amicable terms. She is emulating Hogg, Swale and McWilliams in that regard, who exercise the same familiarity in the mistaken belief that it will somehow diminish me. In fact, it diminishes them. They are seen as being petty, puerile and contemptible. Yet Barbara Green does it all the same because she likes to run with the pack who have the mentality of a lynch mob. She was never more in her element than when she joined in with Farrant's baying mob of miscreants.

Now even they have deserted her because of her unstable and unpredictable behaviour towards people, especially her friends.

There remains, of course, the unanswered question. The one she refuses to answer despite having answered questions put to her by Hogg and others of that clique who troll and stalk me.

Bearing in mind that I have had nothing to do with Barbara Green for many years, why does she still want to constantly mention me by name on the internet, insult and offend me, misrepresent me, and publish blasphemous and derogatory cartoons, even to the extent of wanting to seek consent from the cartoonist who has long since quit the feuds she so obviously desires to reignite?

Barbara Green' paranoia knows no bounds. Another principal obsession, someone she refers to as "Liberarchie" [sic] (I suspect she actually means Liberace), a man by the name of David Hepworth, who lives not far from Barbara Green in West Yorkshire. He is someone I do not know and have never met. There was some sort contretemps approximately a decade back when he was bad-mouthing me for reasons lost in the darkness of the absurd, which I am insufficiently interested in to even begin to remember all these years later. I chose to ignore this curious individual and he eventually went away, taking his peculiar notions about me with him. Soon afterwards there was one hell of a kerfuffle over something he had written detrimental to Barbara Green that became public. The exact circumstances of what it was and all the accompanying minutiae escapes me. It is surely comparable to watching paint dry in slow motion. What is indisputable is that it has absolutely nothing to do with me, and the only person still obsessed by it all is Barbara Green.